Wayward Sons
by nolandsman
Summary: Lloyd's father had always been distant. But when he is suddenly attacked and abducted, Lloyd must navigate the twisted and often cruel world on his own if he ever wants to see him again. A retelling of the events of TofS if Lloyd were raised by Kratos. (currently under reconstruction)
1. Kratos

**So here we are again_. _**

Hello, friends and newcomers. The two-year anniversary for the conception of this story is rapidly approaching, and I thought I'd give it a little makeover to celebrate. The festivities include but are not limited to cutting, pasting, recalibrating, deleting, retrofitting, gluing, polishing and probably failing a little, too. This story has been too old for too long, and while I want to preserve its essence (namely, the drama and melancholy of a fresh wound), hopefully the monster I stitch from this corpse will be a little less... well... _bad_ than its previous incarnation. I've tried to incorporate advice readers have given me during the initial writing of the story (thanks again to all of you, and please don't stop), and while this story has never been much of a crowd-pleaser, hopefully it can grow and morph into something I'm not ashamed of.

Most of the heavy rewriting begins around chapter 6, so that is where I'll start with the slow reintroduction into fanfiction society (yes, this story is a criminal. A violent one). I also think that periodic reintroduction and seeing that 'incomplete' on my status will motivate me to actually finish the thing. It may not be my favorite story, but I owe it that much.

* * *

_For R—,_

_To whom I wanted to show this, but who died before I could. You're an angel too cool for Cruxis. Rest in peace while you can, because when I catch up to you, there will be only partying._

* * *

Lloyd had a father who never slept. At least, not that he'd seen. Every night, at some inn or another, he'd watch his father stare out the window for hours, until sleep took him, and by the morning his ever-vigilant dad would shake him awake. Years passed like this—in fact, Lloyd was hard-pressed to recall a day that _didn't_ begin with his father, eternally frowning and sleepless, prodding his shoulder at the break of dawn. Lloyd had long since given up even trying to find out what his father did while he slept. Shortly after he stopped asking, he was sent away to school.

His school was a boys' academy in Palmacosta, presumably for gifted children, and Lloyd figured that his dad must've paid a boatload in order to keep a dope like him enrolled. All so the old man could shrug him off for eight months of the year to go do more important things. Important things he would constantly refuse to divulge.

Lloyd assumed this summer would be like the rest—his father would come pick him up, drag him halfway around the continent while periodically abandoning him at an inn in some backwoods hick town, only to show up days later with no explanation as to where he went and why. Summers made Lloyd almost enjoy school.

He sat on the marble steps of the academy, wiggling his toes, until his only friend squeaked through the front doors and sat down beside him, dropping his oversized backpack on the steps.

"Hey, Lloyd." Genis was the only one that called him by his name. He'd had to enroll in the academy under a fake one, for "safety reasons," according to his father, who also failed to disclose what those safety reasons were. He'd told Genis to call him Lloyd, pretending that was his middle name or nickname—Lloyd couldn't remember the excuse he made up at the time; all he remembered was that he was lonely enough to risk his safety to have someone call him by his real name.

"Hey, Genis," he said. "Isn't your sister coming to pick you up?"

"Nah. She has this thing with boats—she makes me catch a ship all the way back to Iselia every summer. I don't see why I just can't stay there for the school year. I mean, she's the teacher, she could make it as hard as she wanted." He took his omnipresent kendama from his pocket and began to fool around with it.

"My dad has dragged me to some backwater holes," Lloyd said, "and believe me, Genis, you would never fit in the boondocks like Iselia."

Genis was far too intelligent to survive in some of the small villages Lloyd had visited. Besides, the kid was an elf, and you never knew what rural towns had misconceived discrimination laws regarding other races.

Lloyd didn't know why Genis had taken a liking to him—it seemed the kid should prefer cleverer company. Perhaps it was because Lloyd was the only other boy at the school who didn't pick on him. Lloyd guessed it was because he was the only one that didn't see Genis as a threat, as a curve-ruiner, as a destroyer of grades. Lloyd was always at the bottom of the curve anyway—Genis' score couldn't really do much to make his marks any lower.

Genis tucked away his kendama, straightened his uniform and hoisted his pack. "When will your dad get here?" he asked.

Lloyd shrugged.

"Well, my boat's leaving in half an hour. Be careful this summer. I heard the Desian quota's not full for the season, so they'll be picking up anyone they can. So don't do anything stupid. Or dangerous. I suppose that's like asking water to not be wet."

Lloyd smiled. "You be careful, too."

He watched his friend's shape disappear into the city's bustle, then lay back on the steps and counted the clouds. Other students filed out, carrying suitcases, bags, and books for summer studying. Each stepped past Lloyd without noticing him, and they disappeared into their respective alleyways, harbors and houses. Lloyd stared at the sky until the sun touched the lower ramparts of the governor-general's mansion at the other end of the square. Perhaps he'd have to stay here tonight, until his father would suddenly remember he had a son waiting in Palmacosta.

Lloyd was meticulously deciding what he'd order for dinner that night at the inn when he felt himself being hoisted from the academy's front steps. It took him a moment to realize that his dad was there, dragging him across the square like they had someplace important to be.

"I'm glad you're safe," was all his father said between the academy doors and the city's gate.

"I don't know why I wouldn't be," Lloyd answered, but got no reply. Instead, his father presented him with a traveling cloak, weathered and hooded, and ordered him to make sure his head was covered. "So, where are we going for this year's holiday?" Lloyd asked. "Hima? Umacy? A ditch a thousand miles from civilization? A—oh, hey boy! Who's a good boy?" Noishe, the family dog, greeted them a few yards from the city gate. His father's arrival inevitably heralded the arrival of Noishe, which offset some of Lloyd's gloom. He wasn't sure he could survive his dad without the dog present.

Lloyd's previous question was, as usual, ignored. "How's your friend? Jean?"

"Genis. He's fine. He went back to his village. Did you know the Chosen lives there? I never did. He just told me last week."

"Humph." His father did not seem interested in the conversation. He never seemed interested in any conversation.

They walked a few miles in complete silence. Every so often Lloyd would turn around to see the city shrinking into the horizon, and wondered if he would make it back for the next school year. "So, where are we going?" he said. "Or am I not allowed to ask."

His father remained silent for a few moments, staring at the road ahead. "We're going to Tethe'alla."

"What? All right! _Finally_!" Lloyd had heard stories about the fabled world of prosperity, all from his dad, but he had been strictly forbidden to speak about it to anyone, even Genis. So the land of Tethe'alla built up inside him like any good secret would—he had gone there thousands of times in his head, visited its cities and people, gone on fantastical adventures and always returned some sort of hero.

"Shh!"

Lloyd's smile vanished—for a split second he thought his buzzkill dad was just trying to get him to curb his enthusiasm, but when he found himself being dragged to the side of the road into the bushes, he knew it was something a little more serious. Noishe crouched in the undergrowth beside them, and they watched as three figures approached from the east. Lloyd could recognize their helmets as Desian from miles away.

He tried not to breathe, and hoped for a second that they had not seen them throw themselves off the road, but one of the helmets shouted at them to come out.

"Don't say anything," Lloyd's father told him as they slowly emerged from their hiding place.

"Shouldn't you folks be back in Palmacosta?" one of the armored men asked. Lloyd could not see their faces fully under their shadowy helmets, but he saw enough to pick out their intolerable smirks.

"Maybe they escaped from the ranch," another suggested, playing with the tip of his whip.

"They do seem to be itching to get there."

"We'd be no good," Lloyd heard his father say in a heavily accented drone. "My nephew there is deaf, and I have a bad back. We'd be no good. No good."

"Then perhaps you'd like to compensate us for our effort. We have a long way to go until Palmacosta."

Lloyd screamed inwardly. He knew his father could take them out, all three, effortlessly. So why wasn't he...

His dad reached into his pack and pulled out a small bag of money. Wordlessly he handed it over, and Lloyd bit his lip so hard he was sure it bled. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and his face burned in embarrassment. Of all the bullies to suck up to, it had to be these guys.

The first Desian juggled the bag and frowned. "You know, you don't look like you have that bad of a back. It looks to me like it works just fine."

Another sack of money, larger this time, was produced from a hidden pocket and handed over. "You drive a steep bargain," the Desian said, "but I accept. Next time I won't be so generous."

The three soldiers continued in the direction of the city, but not before one of them decided to give Lloyd a good kick in the back. He flew into the dirt, winded, and scrambled upward, fists ready, only to have his father grab him and hold him back. His antagonists chuckled. "Better keep your halfwit in check, old man," one of them called before all three slipped around the bend.

When Lloyd's breathing slowed and his fists loosened, his father let him go. "Leave them," he commanded, and Lloyd had no choice but to follow him and Noishe down the road. "Do you have any money?"

"Yeah." Lloyd had saved up a little from doing manual labor at the academy—apparently the only thing he was good at. He had planned to get himself a glorious dinner at the Palmacosta inn, but it looked like he'd have to forfeit his earnings so they could stay at the House of Martel that night.

"Good. Keep it hidden."

Lloyd hadn't expected an apology, but part of him wished he'd got one. Not just for handing over the money—Lloyd could've forgiven his father for that. What he couldn't forgive was the fact that he could've whipped those Desians, easily, and yet he still chose to throw away his dignity, not to mention his money. Lloyd didn't understand how he could muster the shamelessness to offer a bribe, but not the humility to apologize to his own son for doing so.

* * *

The House of Martel was grungy, unkempt, and offered very little when it came to meals—some watery soup and stale bread, but Lloyd wasn't picky. Even the greasy leftovers at the Palmacosta academy's cafeteria, too much for some of the more delicate boys, never fazed him. He dragged his bread through the soup, trying to soak some of the staleness out of it, and nearly cracked his teeth biting into it. But it still filled his stomach like anything else, and for that, Lloyd was grateful.

His father, as usual, barely ate. He'd swirl his soup, making a show of eating, but Lloyd knew better. He didn't know how the man survived. "You gonna finish that?" he asked, and smiled when the nearly untouched meal was pushed to his side of the decrepit table. When Lloyd was finished eating for the both of them, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. "So, how do we even get there?"

They both knew where he was talking about. His father looked like he was deeply contemplating whether he should answer or not. Lloyd was prepared not to get an explanation, but was happy when one came. "There are several ways. One of them is impossible. One is entirely dependent on the season and the stars. And the third will be open very soon. For now, we're going to Hima."

Hima wasn't Lloyd's least favorite place, but it wasn't a big hit with him either. It was still halfway to the other side of the continent, though, and when they arose early the next morning to begin the long trek, Lloyd found himself in a sour mood just thinking about it. That day they walked in silence until Hakenosia Peak, where he waited outside the gatekeeper's hut while his father negotiated passes for them. Lloyd figured he was probably beating the avaricious old fool to a pulp—or at least threatening to. I guess when it came to greedy business owners, he would mete out some justice, but when it came to real criminals, he would just suck up and let them walk all over him.

The embarrassing memory of the three Desians made Lloyd grit his teeth and only worsened his already bad mood. When his father emerged from the hut, passes in hand, a poisonous feeling welled up inside him. Noishe seemed to sense it too, and pushed his nose between Lloyd's arm and torso, forcing his hand to cup the dog's massive ear. He stroked it for a few seconds, thankful that he had someone as reasonable as Noishe around, and followed his father up the hill.

It got dark before they reached the peak, so they trudged a little off the path and set up a fire and their bedrolls. Lloyd found some long sticks for sword practice, brought them to his father, was rejected, and then had to go find some more. When the sticks he had procured were finally approved, Lloyd was thoroughly thrashed, then berated for not trying hard enough. That was all standard procedure when it came to training. Lloyd nursed his bruised arms by the fire while his father cooked up what looked to be some mystery meat soup.

"Why don't you let me use a real sword?" Lloyd asked.

"Because you're not ready to have one."

"The academy at least lets me use practice swords. Not just some dumb sticks."

"You need to learn that you can fight with anything. It'll keep you a lot safer when you don't have a weapon."

"The only reason I don't have a weapon is because you don't let me carry one! You never even use yours!" Somehow Lloyd found himself standing up, taking his father's silence as an invitation to continue. "I mean, do you _like_ it when we get robbed? Do you _like_ it when we get kicked around and have to hide? I know you can defend yourself, I know I can too, but you're too much of a low-down coward to fight! Is that how Mom died? You couldn't fight for her?" Caught up in his own rage, Lloyd kicked dirt onto the fire, into the soup and onto his father.

Before he could realize what he'd done, his feet were knocked from under him. A knee pinned him to the dirt, winding him. His left eye stung like all hell, and before he could raise his arms to defend himself he felt a fist strike his opposite cheek. Then, as quickly as he attacked, his father retreated, leaving Lloyd to sputter and cough in the dirt. Lloyd watched him go, slinking off into the shadows beyond the fire without saying a word.

He curled on his side and stared at the flames, as Noishe, whimpering, crawled up beside him and burrowed his head into Lloyd's limp hand. After a few minutes of petting, when he felt a little better, he sat up. Ashamed but too hungry to pass it up, Lloyd reached out to the dirt-covered soup, removed it from the fire, and spooned it into his sore mouth. He ignored the irony taste of what was either soil or blood, and just told himself to be grateful he didn't have to chew. Each swallow hurt like a new bruise, and he felt himself reaching up to touch his swollen cheek or his split eyebrow every so often, wiping away whatever blood trickled into his eye.

By the time he had eaten his fill, his father returned, green leaves scrunched in his hand. He sat opposite Lloyd, never offering a word, and poured water into the small kettle he usually used for coffee. He lay what he had collected by the fire: three varieties of leaves, a dark flower, a small nut, a strip of thin bark. Lloyd watched him set the kettle on the fire, and then carefully peel the leaves from their stems, crack open the nut, and pull the orange pollen from the flower's stamen. When the water began to boil, in went the leaves, the bark, then after a few minutes, the pollen and granular contents of the nut. Then he pulled out a small, folded cloth from his pack and dropped it in the pot. After a few minutes, he removed the kettle from the fire and let it cool.

Noishe, now convinced the skirmish was safely over, curled by the fire and began to twitch, dreaming. Lloyd coughed into his hand as his father removed the cloth from the kettle, stepped over the sleeping animal, and sat down beside him. He silently began to wipe away the blood and dirt from Lloyd's cheeks, his eyes and mouth, then lay the cloth over his swollen eyebrow. Although still warm, the material felt cool and comforting, like ice on a sprain. An herbal aroma wafted from the soft cloth and into Lloyd's nose, sending a wave of relief through him. He felt his muscles relax, and the pain in his face gradually subsided. He yawned.

He knew that although both of them were too stubborn to offer a verbal apology, Lloyd's relaxed silence and his father's tender nursing marked the tacit forgiveness between them. Lloyd's eyelids fluttered shut, and he leaned back on his bedroll. His father readjusted the warm cloth, drooped it over his forehead, and then he was asleep.

It hadn't always been like that, when all they did was exchange verbal or physical blows. Before he had been sent away to school, things were different. When he was little, his father took him everywhere and rarely let him out of his sight. Back then, his father was reasonable and kind, and so unlike the man he was now.

Shortly after his mother died, Lloyd had woken up alone from a nightmare. They had been staying at some inn or another, and when he found that he was alone in the moonlit room, he began to cry. Unlike other children, Lloyd had a habit of crying softly, discreetly, partly because he was afraid of crying in front of his father, and partly because he was taught that for his own safety, he shouldn't bring attention to himself.

But his father heard. Miraculously, he heard his tiny whimpers all the way from the inn's bar, sprinted up the stairs and kicked the door open, ale in one hand, book in the other, demanding to know if Lloyd was all right. Surprised and frightened by such a dramatic appearance, Lloyd began to cry in earnest, until his father came over and sat beside him, lighting the candle before he took his son onto his lap.

"I had a dream... about mom."

"We don't need to talk about her."

"Can I have some?" Lloyd pointed to the mug of ale on the bedside table.

His father laughed. "If you want. You won't like it. Next time, I'll bring you some hot mead."

Lloyd ignored his warnings and gulped some of the foam floating at the top, only to spit it out across his lap.

"I'll get you some water," his father said, but Lloyd grabbed his pant leg. He desperately didn't want to be left alone again.

"Read that to me," this time Lloyd pointed at the huge, bronze tome his dad had been sifting through for months.

"You won't like that, either."

"I don't care."

So his father lounged on the bed and took him in one arm, balanced the tome on his knee with the other, and began to read: "It is a matter of utmost importance, and indeed it is the only way to ensure successful forging of the ring, that the fires be fueled with sacred wood. One has several choices when considering procuring such wood. As it tends to grow the largest and most abundantly in the Ozette region, this would be the first choice if one wishes to acquire the finest specimens. However, land ownership laws in the region prevent independent logging. There are myriad legal processes one must endure when attempting to apply for a logging permit, the first of which involves composing a formal letter to the Royal Forestry Service to obtain written permission from the Tethe'allan monarch. Listed below are the various forms and procedures necessary in order to acquire a permit, all of which are subject to change..."


	2. The Tower

Lloyd groaned himself awake at the first light of dawn. He made the mistake of trying to rub sleep from his eyes, and the pain shook him upright. He couldn't see from his left eye—it seemed it had swollen shut. He groped around for the medicinal cloth from last night, found it, reapplied it to his aching face, but its potency had worn off. He looked with his one good eye to where his father was packing up, only to have something tossed to him. Being suddenly devoid of depth perception, he was unable to catch the object. It hit him on the nose and dropped into his lap. Lloyd squinted at it to find was a hard biscuit, pasted with something green and nasty-looking.

"Breakfast. The spread is for the pain."

Lloyd found he couldn't bring himself to say thank you. The biscuit tasted like dirt, but it satiated his rumbling stomach and eased the pain in his face. He packed up his things, haunted by his own guilty silence. He should never have brought up his mother. He knew that was a surefire way to ruin any potential interaction with his father, so why did he, especially at the worst times? No answer immediately came to him.

For weeks, the answer still did not come. They travelled onward, Lloyd hanging his head behind his father, trudging along silently. They stopped in Asgard for a few days to resupply before setting off to Luin, then onto Hima. Lloyd estimated in those weeks he probably exchanged a hundred words with his dad, but every night without fail, they would spar, and he would lose, just like always. That seemed to suffice as communication, at least for the time being.

When they arrived in Hima, Lloyd perked up, his curiosity about Tethe'alla rekindled. When they were checked in at the inn, he decided to ask about it.

"So, when are we going?"

"I don't know. Soon."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

His father shot him a frozen glare. It was a look that never failed to silence him. So Lloyd just threw himself on the bed and opened a book Genis had given him. You knew your holiday was boring when suddenly reading seemed to be the most interesting thing to do, but Lloyd thought the book was fine. It was obviously written with a younger audience than him in mind, but he enjoyed it anyway—he figured Genis thought it was right about at his level.

"What are you reading about?" his father asked, apparently his interest piqued by seeing his son acting so uncharacteristically scholarly.

"The Kharlan War."

"Oh. How is it?"

"I dunno. I'm not that far into it."

"Well, don't believe everything you read."

Lloyd thought that was an odd bit of advice, but the Kharlan War was so long ago and so far removed from his own life it didn't seem that real to begin with. He knew deep inside that Mithos the Hero was probably about as made up as the sea monsters that the sailors in Palmacosta would go on about.

Lloyd read well into the evening, which must've been a first for him, but he was caught up in a narrative involving a particularly brutal massacre of humans at the hands of some half-elf rebels. Just reading about such injustice made him grip the edges of the book so hard he accidentally tore a page. When it was clear that continuing would jeopardize the safety of Genis' gift, he put the book on the bedside table and went downstairs, where his father sat with his own tome and a glass of ale.

"Order yourself some dinner," he said when Lloyd sat across from him. "You can have some mead if you'd like."

"Sure."

They ate in silence, but Lloyd boiled over with excitement at the prospect of visiting the prospering world. He must've been visibly twitching, since his father felt the need to curb his enthusiasm.

"Don't act so jittery."

"I can't help it, if we're going to—"

"Quiet. You never know who'll be listening."

_You're right, dad, I don't,_ Lloyd found himself thinking. _That's because I'm not a paranoid old crazy._

His father leaned in. "But remember this. When the time comes, you're going to do exactly as I tell you. You're not going to question anything. You're not going to say anything. Do you hear me?"

Lloyd nodded, but he knew that when his dad became militant all of a sudden, something disastrous was bound to happen. Like having their money pilfered by Desian thugs.

"And Lloyd, if anything happens and we get separated, you know where we're to meet up?"

Lloyd nodded.

"In both worlds?"

Nod.

"Tell me the coordinates."

He did.

"Good. Don't act too excited. It's suspicious."

Lloyd couldn't help but smile at his old man's silly paranoia. If anything was going to get him excited, it was the prospect of leaving Sylvarant after all these boring years of school, punctuated only by boring trips with his dad out to the middle of nowhere to look for goddess-knows-what.

When he went to bed, he could barely sleep. He tried to imagine what Tethe'alla was like, but found it hard to. For one thing, his dad had once told him that there are no Desians there. No human ranches, no exsphere manufacturing plants. When Lloyd was little he went so far as to imagine that people never suffered or died there. He went so far as to imagine that that was where his mother went after she disappeared. At this age he knew better, but still, a tiny, irrational part of him wished it was so, that as soon as he got there he would see her again, and he would finally remember what she looked like. The comforting image of his mother put him to sleep, and she stayed in his dreams. When the next morning arrived, he tried to sleep in to keep her with him.

* * *

That afternoon the Tower of Salvation appeared in the distance. He and his father went to the top of the hill above the inn, where some schemer tried to sell them a dragon ride. They ignored him and stared at the huge, almost fragile-looking construction piercing the sky.

"That's our ticket, Lloyd."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"For the excitement to die down. They may be expecting us."

"They? Who's they?" Lloyd turned and found his father already heading down the hill toward the inn, and stumbled to catch up. "Hey, dad? Who?"

Lloyd, as usual, got no answer, and after years of these sorts of silences, he knew not to press the matter. It would arise when it would.

He couldn't sleep at all that night. His father stood hyper-vigilant at the window, watching the Tower as if it might get up and walk away any minute. Lloyd figured his dad was just as excited as he was, but was just opposed to showing it, much like he seemed to be opposed to showing any other sort of emotion. Lloyd turned on his side and tried his best to fall asleep, until he heard the door creak open, then shut again. He heard footsteps echo across the hall, down the stairs, heard the inn's front door close gently.

A sudden panic enveloped him and wouldn't let go. The bastard was going to leave without him. He was going to abandon him, as he always did, right when something important was about to happen. That son of a bitch was going to go to Tethe'alla and leave him behind.

Not if Lloyd could help it.

As silently as he could, he crept out of bed, through the door and down the hall. Halfway down the stairs he realized he'd forgotten his jacket and shoes, but suddenly he didn't care. The goal was to catch up to his dad and give him a good uppercut to remind him not to leave his kid behind. He didn't have to have clean feet when he did it. Lloyd slipped out the door into the night, where Noishe decided to greet him.

"Shh, boy. Stay," he whispered, and the dog crept back under the inn's front deck.

He knew if his father's hypersensitive ears were to hear him now, it would all be over. He followed closely enough to know where his old man was going, trying not to breathe or make a sound. He soon found himself at the top of Hima's tallest hill, but his father was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had just disappeared into the sky.

Lloyd remembered that old guy trying to foist expensive dragon rides on unsuspecting tourists, and figured that his dad must've rented one of those. He poked around until he found the man sleeping in what seemed to be a stable built for cows, but which now housed a dozen or so scraggly, underfed dragons.

"Hey, you," Lloyd kicked him awake.

"What! Martel have mercy, what do you think you're doing, waking a man up at this hour?"

"Did someone just rent a dragon from you?"

"Of course not, no night rides allowed."

"Okay, did he steal one from you?"

The man looked over his scaly flock. "All accounted for here. You're crazy."

"I need one of those dragons. Now."

"Wait till morning, buddy."

Lloyd couldn't wait till morning. He couldn't wait another second. The thought of his father flying to the other world without him, the world without suffering, enraged him. What if he never came back? What if he just left him here? What if, Martel forbid, he got to reunite with Lloyd's mother before him? No. One of those dragons was going to carry him to that tower.

The dragon man must've seen the fury in Lloyd's face, because he immediately gave in. "All right, but you have to pay extra to ride at night."

"How about I just let you live?" Lloyd said as he hoisted himself onto one of the lazy animals. It woke with a jerk and yawned deeply.

"That could work," the salesman whimpered. "But you'll owe me. You just wait till I get the cops involved."

"Eat me," Lloyd told him and nudged the dragon into the sky, toward the Tower.

* * *

The Tower of Salvation was remarkably quiet. There was nothing inside but a long, clear walkway, bathed in green light. It may not have been the creepiest place Lloyd had ever been, but it certainly was in the top three. He was afraid to make any noise, not just because his father would hear him, but because the eerie sacredness of the building itself seemed to forbid it. Since the Tower necessitated his absolute silence, he was almost able to sneak up on his father. The man stood at what looked to be some sort of glass altar, hand firmly grasped around his sword hilt.

And as he usually did when trying to outmaneuver his dad, he failed miserably. "Lloyd!" The sheer rage in that shout was something Lloyd had never heard before. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm coming with you!" he managed to pluck up the courage to reply.

"Get out, go back to Hima! It's not safe here!"

Lloyd was preparing a reply when his father shouted and sprinted toward him, drawing his sword. Lloyd suddenly feared that he would be cut down for his disobedience, but instead he was shoved roughly aside. As he fell and rolled he glimpsed a human creature strike an axe through the air where he had just been. His father's longsword rang as it sliced up to meet the weapon. Lloyd scooted back to the corner of the altar and watched as the two exchanged blows, realizing with no small degree of horror that the strange attacker was some sort of angel. The white, feathery wings on its back, straining with the effort of the fight, told him as much.

His father made quick work of it, flicked the blood from his sword, and ran over to Lloyd. "Are you all right?"

Lloyd could only nod.

"Stay behind me, and never disobey me again."

He sat at the edge of the glass platform, against a pillar, helpless at his father's feet as more angels appeared seemingly from nowhere. The creatures all flocked toward them, and Lloyd wished that he had been allowed to carry a sword of his own. His dad, never straying more than a few feet from where Lloyd crouched, seemed to be able to hold his own against them. Lloyd could barely track his sword's movements as it cut and hacked and parried flawlessly.

"Lloyd, you're going to run to the exit." He sliced an assailant in half. "You're not going to turn around." Stabbed another through the throat. "You're not going to look back." Another through the gut. "And you're not going to stop until you're far away."

Lloyd nodded, shaking.

"Now, go!"

He made for the light at the end of the glass walkway, dodging incoming blows, tripping over his own shoeless feet, until he thought he was home free.

Then he bumped into something, something soft, but firm. He reeled, head swirling at the unexpected contact, and whatever it is blocking his way to the exit let out a chuckle. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into the face of a man he'd never seen before. The stranger's cold green irises petrified him, and in Lloyd's hesitancy, he reached out and grabbed him by the throat.

Lloyd felt his body turn to ice and the air freeze in his lungs. From somewhere far away he heard his father shout, and he could barely force his eyes in his direction.

"Kratos, I think you dropped something." The stranger's voice was bone-chillingly smooth, and soullessly calm. Lloyd told himself to struggle against his grip, but found he couldn't.

From the corner of his eye he saw his father, still as a rock, gaze locked with Lloyd's. Lloyd couldn't say he was sorry from this particular position, but he hoped his eyes could convey just as much.

In his father's momentary, desperate stillness, one of the angels thrust a sword into his back. Its tip emerged from his chest, shining silver and red in the eerie light. Lloyd could barely cry out as his father fell to his knees, ineffectually cupping the blood that flowed from the hole in his chest.

The strange man only laughed. "Now, be gentle with him. We don't want him to expire."

Two angels wrapped their arms around his father's, dragging him upright, where he proceeded to struggle weakly, all the while mouthing something to himself.

"What are you mumbling there, Kratos?" the strange man loosened his grip on Lloyd slightly, but only enough so he could twitch his legs uselessly. He still did not have the strength or the leverage to pry his attacker from his neck.

Kratos raised his bloodied head, and through the din of angels scuffling, armor clinking, and his own gasping, Lloyd heard him whisper a word.

"Judgment."

A white-hot pillar burst between Lloyd and his assailant, sending both of them flying. Lloyd managed to keep himself from rolling off the side of the catwalk and into the infinite blue light, but as he struggled to his feet, every muscle in him burned. He could barely stumble toward his father, who now had one arm free and was weaving a spell in the air before him.

"Dad," Lloyd managed to squeak, reaching out a charred hand.

While each of their respective attackers was busy recovering, the two locked eyes for a moment, and Lloyd knew what was coming wasn't good. From his father's hand burst a wave of white energy. It hit him right in the chest, throwing him back into the air. A great blue chasm opened behind him and he felt himself being flung toward it, winded. Lloyd recognized it as a banishment spell almost immediately, even though he had never seen one before. He managed, as he fell through the great hole into whatever wasteland lay beyond, to look at his father's face one last time. The last thing he saw was Kratos' lips recite an incantation of rejection before the giant mouth of the chasm closed above him.


	3. Virginia

All was blue. All was air. He was weightless, buoyed only by an upward current of wind. Lloyd spread his arms, embracing the open sky, reveling in flight, until his head cleared enough to realize that he was falling.

_I guess it's not a terrible day to die_, he found himself thinking, until he remembered who had sent him here, miles above the earth and careening ever downward. It seemed his father would rather die alone than have his son by his side. Lloyd would've gone with him, taken a sword to the heart too, if only the old bastard would just let him. With each passing second, with each gust of freezing air that flew past him too fast for him to catch a breath, he grew angrier. But he could do nothing; just careen and flail and pray.

He was sailing far above an unfamiliar land, nothing but a speck in an endless blue sky. He knew that eventually, he would hit the ground, but he reckoned he still had a good minute to think about his situation. He wondered if he would beat his father to the moment of death—whether it would take longer for him to reach earth or for his dad to bleed out. But he would be damned if his old man got to greet his mother before him. He thought he'd rather not know exactly when the impact would come, so he flipped on his back and let gravity pull him swiftly toward the ground.

He didn't see the impossibly floating mass of land blow in the wind under him, or how the only watering hole in the sky city happened by chance to line up precisely with his trajectory—all he knew is that he hit something hard, and hit it far sooner than he expected, and that even though it took his consciousness and emptied his lungs, he still lived.

* * *

The residents of Exire were not expecting a strange boy to fall from the sky. To be fair, Exire was an isolated town of so very little consequence that they didn't expect much of anything at all, ever. The most exciting thing they had on their little sky island was one madwoman who was basically harmless. Because they were so unaccustomed to and therefore afraid of the unexpected, they decided to house the unconscious boy, who, lucky for him, managed to land in the tiny pool at the town's edge, with said madwoman. They figured if they lumped their problems together, perhaps they would cancel out. Which isn't such a bad idea, considering it's easy to hit two birds with one stone when you shut both of them up in the same barrel.

* * *

Lloyd could almost hear his eyelids creak as he slowly forced them open. A blurred image of a woman's pale face came into view, and for a second he thought he might've found his mother. He was either dead, or had made it to the land of riches, Tethe'alla. When he finally opened his eyes completely, he realized that no, he had not found his mother. The woman hovering above him was clearly an elf.

So where was he? Where was… He suddenly remembered that he had fallen.

"How did I live?" he croaked.

"I'm not so sure you did," came the unsatisfactory reply. Lloyd managed to sit up and examine his surroundings. He seemed to be in a cluttered but relatively clean hut, tucked into a straw bed. Apparently he was alive, as evinced by his aching body. Events that at first seemed to be so far in the past slowly came back to him: the tower, the flocks of angels, the strange man with the ice-cold glare, and his father. Lloyd had never before seen those kinds of spells or that kind of power. He wondered what had been hidden from him for so many years, and resolved that when he managed to get to their assigned meeting point, he would have a good long talk with his dad.

"I have to get outta here," he said, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His muscles immediately protested, sending sharp pain through him. He clenched his teeth and hissed a little.

"Well, be quiet about it," the woman said. "Don't wake the baby."

"Baby?"

Lloyd looked over at the elf and noticed she was holding a doll that seemed be made of burlap and yarn. Great. Just when he thought his dad was the craziest person alive, this lady comes along. Lloyd knew it was probably safest to humor her, so he tried to get up as quietly as he could, grunting and cursing his sore muscles. He had managed to get halfway out of bed when a knock came at the door and a timid voice called, "Virginia?"

"Coming," the elf woman replied, walking to the door. She ushered in a curious-looking fellow, probably another elf, by the looks of it.

"Good morning," he smiled at Lloyd. "You had quite a fall. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Lloyd lied.

"How in the world did you end up in the middle of the sky? You just... popped out of nowhere."

Lloyd scratched his aching head, thinking of the terrifying spell his father had cast, of the gaping blue hole that had swallowed him and spat him back out far away from the fight. He briefly wondered if his father had banished him for his own safety, or if he just wanted to get him out of his hair. He hadn't done very good job of predicting where that portal would eject Lloyd... or maybe he just didn't really care. "Gods," Lloyd muttered, holding his head, "I don't even know. All of a sudden, I was just falling."

The man raised and eyebrow and gave Lloyd an incredulous look.

"Oh, it looks like baby's getting hungry," Virginia said. "Excuse me, gentlemen, while I go feed her."

When she left, the man turned back to Lloyd. "I'm sorry we had to leave you with Virginia, but we have no other empty beds in the rest of the village, you understand. And she's the best healer we've ever had. Without her, well, I don't know if you would've pulled through."

"Is this an elf village?" Lloyd asked.

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment. "H... half-elf."

Lloyd immediately cursed his luck for falling headfirst into a den of Desians, but then reconsidered. If they had wanted to enslave him he'd have woken up in chains; if they wanted to kill him he wouldn't have woken up at all. No, for some reason, these people seemed different than Desians. He obviously had not fallen into the middle of a human ranch, but he still wondered why half-elves would be so kind as to nurse an inferior being like him back to health.

The man continued speaking, a little nervously. "We built this city—well, Virginia actually did most of the aeronautical planning, but we built this city to escape the persecution rampant on the ground."

"Persecution... against half-elves?" Lloyd almost laughed. Weren't they the ones running the ranches? Weren't they the ones herding and harvesting people like animals? And what did he mean about the ground?

The man frowned, taken aback. "I think you hit your head, kid. Maybe some fresh air will clear it." He led Lloyd outside the small hut and into the windy grey light of day. Lloyd closed the door behind him, turned around, and was immediately struck dumb by the view. He was standing eye-level with the clouds, watching a gorgeous but altogether unfamiliar land move slowly below him. His heart beat so violently he thought it might pop out of his chest, his head swirled, his legs shook, and he nearly fell headfirst off the edge of the floating city. But he couldn't help smiling. He had done it: he had made it to Tethe'alla.

* * *

With Virginia tending to him, Lloyd recovered quickly. She would bring him food, lay a warm cloth over his aching head, and wouldn't let him out of her sight. After he was all but cured, he was confronted with a seemingly insurmountable problem—how to get back down on the ground. While he was recovering and being nursed alongside the doll as Virginia's child, he asked around how he could manage to get to the ground below. From every villager he got the same answer: he couldn't. That was the whole point of Exire. Total isolation.

No wonder Virginia had gone insane.

As the days wore on into weeks, Lloyd grew accustomed to her ramblings, her hang-ups, that creepy doll she insisted was her daughter, Raine. She also harped on about how she was pregnant again but hadn't yet chosen a name. Lloyd humored her, because even though her meals were terrible and her ranting was worse, even though she would address Lloyd by myriad names, none of which were his own, she had an indomitable aura of kindness, and it was because of her that he was able to recover from his injuries so quickly. And rarely, very rarely, Virginia suffered from bouts of lucidity so convincing that Lloyd began to suspect that sometimes, when the stars lined up just right, she wasn't crazy at all.

"You know, I used to be the top aeronautical engineer in Sybak," she said suddenly, after placing a plate of barely-cooked rice in front of him. "Until my family insisted I separate myself from the university and go back home to Heimdall. 'Not a place for an elf,' they said. A bunch of goddamn racists, if you ask me."

Lloyd, surprised at her sudden history lesson, laughed so hard his rice came spouting back out onto his plate.

Virginia, however, didn't think it was that funny. She sat across from him and crossed her legs, like she was a guest at a dinner party. "To tell you the complete truth, I couldn't stand living here, on this empty island." She turned, suddenly sad, and stared at the wall for several minutes. Lloyd was afraid to speak, lest he interrupt her thoughts, so he ate in silence. Eventually she spoke up. "You know, Kloitz, I've been hearing rumors that you're going to be leaving me up here. That you're going back down to the ground."

"I'm going to try. And I'm not Kloitz."

"I know I shouldn't cry over the inevitable," she said, cradling her doll. "But sometimes I can't help it." Virginia's shoulders began to shake and she hung her head. Lloyd, not sure what to do, scooted his chair over to her and put an awkward hand on her back. When she glanced up at him, her eyes were red and watery. "I abandoned them. I did. At the gate to the other world." At this point Lloyd was sure she had retreated back into insanity.

She did not emerge from her delusions again for days. Every few hours she would go to the window and mutter something about a secret, then leave, come back into the house, sing a song to her doll and rock it to sleep. Lloyd only watched her, not willing to interrupt. He took her lapses in reason as an invitation to retreat within himself, to think long and hard about the bewildering spectacle that had taken place at the Tower of Salvation. He mused on it for hours at a time, trying to make sense of the whole thing, but couldn't. He just didn't know enough. He didn't know enough about the Tower, about the angels, even about his own dad.

So he made plans. He composed a flawless argument accusing his father of gross neglect. He secretly gathered things he would need when he escaped this place—a few thin blocks of cheese, salted meat, occasionally money, some extra clothes here and there, mostly things the other residents of Exire tossed in the waste pile at the edge of town, where it would be thrown to the ground later. With all this packed, he would go to the assigned meeting place and wait for his father, and he would have a few choice words for him—if he was still alive.

Lloyd spent weeks feeding and nursing his escape plans, like Virginia fed and nursed her doll. Also like the doll, he wasn't sure if his plans would ever grow to be something real. After weeks of no progress, no sign of his escape ever being possible, he started to consider going crazy himself. He had to concede that losing his mind might be the only way to escape this place, but his plans solidified when one day Virginia rebounded into clarity. "You're looking to leave, aren't you?" she asked him.

"If I can."

"You can. When I came here I began to build a way out. I wanted to go find them. But I can't, I just can't. I'm too weak." She stared at him intensely for a moment. "It's in the shed."

She led Lloyd out the side of the house to the storage shed, one that he had assumed had been empty, since he never saw her even unlock it, much less go inside. But as she fiddled with the padlock, he got a feeling that she had his ticket out.

In the glowing dust of the old shed, Lloyd could make out the curved outline of what appeared to be a small wing.

"It's just a prototype, but it should get you to where you're going."

Lloyd had never told her where he was going.

Virginia turned away from the winged machine and looked at him with uncharacteristically clear eyes. "Kloitz… No, not Kloitz. Lloyd. Lloyd, who fell from the sky. Some people here don't want outsiders to know this town exists. So tonight, when they're asleep, take this to the edge and just drop. The machine will glide. Just have faith."

Lloyd wasn't sure if he appreciated being told to jump to his death by such a nutter, but he also wasn't sure how else he'd get off this floating rock.

"I may not be this clearheaded later," Virginia continued, brimming with tears, "so do not listen to me if I try to dissuade you. Take this." She handed him a tattered book, covered in as much dust as the neglected flying machine. "Find them. Find them and tell them I'm so, so sorry."

"Find who?"

"My children."


	4. The Oracle

That night, when Lloyd dragged the tiny gliding machine to the edge of the floating city, he was absolutely certain he was going to fall to his death. Of course, anyone told to push a glider off a cliff and jump right on would have some reservations about it. He stared into the endless blue night below him, watching the grey, glowing forms of clouds swirl like drops of milk in tea. Maybe if he aimed for one of them he could land on it… Lloyd shook his head. This was impossible, it was certain death, he couldn't do it, he wouldn't…

But to Lloyd's great surprise, he did it anyway. When he careened down through the freezing night air, still certain he was going to die, all of a sudden he felt strangely free. The machine, as if awoken simply by being reintroduced to its intended environment, sprung to life on its own. It spread two grey canvas wings, spouted some gaseous waste behind it and shot off toward the horizon. Lloyd barely held on as the device made its own course; for the first while the best he could do was try not to fall off. Cold bursts of air flew into his nose and mouth, making it difficult to breathe, but after a few minutes of fighting with the machine and the wind around him, he managed to find the steering. He held on for dear life, clutching at the levers, until he finally got the hang of this whole flying thing.

Lloyd found himself laughing at the blasts of cold air on his face, the sputtering of the motor. He loved the freedom, the power he felt when he tipped the glider and curved his own path against the sky. He could finally go wherever he wanted—no father to hold him back, no walls, no fences. He had half a mind to stay up there forever, gliding across the world, never troubling himself with the problems on the ground, so far below him.

After about an hour, when the initial rush was over, he realized he had no idea where he was, or how to get where he wanted to go. A small, dingy screen was nestled in the control apparatus, so he played with it, trying to type in the coordinates he wanted.

It turned out that although Virginia seemed to be a brilliant engineer, she was not so good at building computers. At least, Lloyd assumed this was a computer—he had only heard about them, vaguely, from his father. Nevertheless, after tapping at the screen mindlessly for what seemed like forever, he was finally able to bring up a map of the surrounding area, and the corresponding coordinates. When he found that his mark was conveniently close by, he geared toward it at full speed, realizing just then that he had no idea how to land.

By the time he neared the mountain, it was too late to learn. He pulled up as fast as he could, but the machine still sped downward, missing its intended landing spot by at least a few miles. When the glider was low enough that the treetops scraped the bottom, Lloyd released the steering, raising his hands to protect himself from the impact. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, preparing for a backbreaking collision.

To his surprise, his sudden contact with earth was gentle—breezy almost. He dared to open his eyes and saw below him a patch of what looked like giant petals. He felt a puff of air slow him to a gentle descent, and he landed in a bed of huge, soft flowers. The plants wiggled and puffed bubbles of warm air at him, and despite the sheer weirdness of the flora, Lloyd felt himself relax. He sat on the comfortable petals, rather pleased with his landing. That was a pretty nice piece of luck.

The flying machine, though, seemed to be beyond repair. It had crumpled as soon as it hit the mouth of one of the bizarre flowers, its wings bent pathetically under it. It looked like it hadn't suffered too heavy damage, but the thing was old and extremely delicate, and Lloyd didn't have the skills to fix it. He figured the likelihood of finding a glider repairman out in this wilderness was pretty low, so he would have to leave it to the mercy of the flowers. It looked like he'd have to go on foot from here on out.

The mountainside was dotted with hundreds those strange, breathing flowers. Lloyd tugged his pack closer to him and headed upward, cursing his father's decision to designate their meeting point at the top of a mountain. Leave it to his dad to make things hard for him. But he trudged upward, always the loyal son. At least this solitary journey gave him time to think about things, about his father's spell, the blond man with the cruel smile, and the Tower. He wondered what they all had to do with one another, but so far he had no leads except this meeting point. His thoughts just chased themselves in circles, going nowhere.

He walked on until the sun peeked over the mountaintop, bathing the sky in pink light. As he made his way upslope, the air grew colder and the trees thinner. When he neared the summit, he spied a small hut squatting on one of the hillside's plateaus. _That must be it_, he thought, and scrambled up the scree toward it.

When he finally reached the little house, panting, he threw his pack down by the door and reached for the knob. He expected it to be locked tight, but the door creaked open easily. Faint morning light slipped in through the only window, and he crept inside, sneezing at the dust. The hut struck him as a curious place to meet up—but his father must've figured if one of them got there a long time before the other, he could wait in comfort. The air was fresh, the building wasn't too cold; he wouldn't mind waiting here for at least a couple days.

He was about to make himself comfortable when he realized the hut was already occupied. A small fire flickered in the tiny hearth on the back wall, and small figure slumped before it, reaching out to its warmth.

"Oh," Lloyd said. "Excuse me."

An old man, who looked to be an elf, turned to him slowly, as if not surprised in the least bit to see a stranger appear at his door. He had the look of an oracle about him, with his wizened wrinkles and tattered cloak.

"Who are you?" Lloyd asked.

"I'm the caretaker of this hut. Just an old man with a simple job."

"Oh. I'm Lloyd. I'm waiting for my father,"

The sage smiled. "You'll be waiting for a long time, then."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. But he left something the last time he was here. Something he wanted to keep hidden."

"How do you know him?"

"Oh, plenty of people know him." The old man shuffled to the far edge of the hut and bent down. He reached under a side table and tugged a long black chest from the shadows. "My old bones can't handle this weight," he said, motioning for Lloyd to pick it up.

Lloyd heaved it onto the table and undid the latches holding the lid down. He glanced at the old man, who nodded at him to open it. Lloyd held his breath and lifted the lid. What he found inside both intrigued and bewildered him.

The first thing he removed from the chest was a massive tome, bound in wrinkled leather and thick with dust. He cracked it open to find it in a language he didn't understand. He set that aside and pulled out a small chunk of metal that glinted in the dim light. He couldn't make anything of that, either. The third thing to appear from the chest seemed to be some rotting kindling, which confused him more than the rest. But the next item he pulled from the chest left him dumbfounded. It was a curved longsword, and when Lloyd slid it from its sheath, he saw the blade was etched with flames. When the light of the fire caught its steel, it seemed to glow an eerie red, as if it were the embers of some ancient power. Letters in a foreign tongue, one Lloyd couldn't read, were embossed near its hilt. He turned the sword over and over in his hands, shaking his head, mind running in frantic circles.

Why would his father need such a magnificent thing? And something that seemed so old? He looked to the sage for help, but the old man merely shook his head as if he knew nothing about it.

Lloyd turned back to the chest, reached in and pulled out another book, smaller this time, and sifted through the yellowed pages. His father's handwriting filled nearly every inch of paper, a goldmine of barely legible scribbles. Lloyd shuffled through the pages, landing on one near the end, where apparently his father had been in some big hurry to stop writing. _Contact Summoner in Meltokio, utmost impo_—is all it said. Lloyd frowned, figured he'd decipher its meaning later, and reached back into the chest. His fingers wrapped around something small and he plucked out what appeared to be an exsphere, glinting blue, complete with key crest.

"Fancy that," he muttered. With this, and with the strange sword he had discovered, he would finally be able to hold his own. He had never used an exsphere before, but his dad usually wore one. He'd once asked him about the basics, and wasn't given extremely an informative answer, but he thought he had the gist of how they worked. Stick it on, warm it up, and instant power. He had a feeling he would use this quite a bit.

He set the exsphere aside and reached into the black box again. He found another small, round thing, metal this time, and he pulled out what appeared to be a locket, trailing a thin silver chain. He had some trouble getting his fingernails between its rusty sides, but when he opened it, he fell back into a chair, hand over his mouth.

There she was. Her, and his father, and what must've once been him cradled between them. His father's hand was on his mother's shoulder, her hand laid across his. And Lloyd. Damn, he was a fat baby. He heard himself let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a chuckle. The old man watched Lloyd make a fool of himself, but he said nothing, choosing simply to watch observe from the shadows. When Lloyd calmed himself down a little, her removed his hand from his open mouth and wiped his eyes. He reluctantly set aside the locket and turned his attention back to the box. He wanted more of this, more of his mother—maybe if he was lucky he'd pull out a portrait, or a lock of her hair.

He was disappointed when he reached again into the chest. He pulled out several strange artifacts—a pot, what looked to be a ceremonial knife, a rusty brooch. He thought he recognized the knife and the brooch from somewhere, then remembered that the book Genis had given him had illustrations depicting items remarkably similar to these ones.

"These are relics of the ancient war," Lloyd muttered, half speaking to himself, half to the old man. "Where could my dad possibly get these?"

The sage smiled feebly. "Ask him yourself."

Lloyd clenched a fist. "I would, but he's probably dead."

"Do you believe he's dead?"

Lloyd hesitated for a moment before answering, "No. Not really."

"Then he's still alive. Your father has an old soul. He's tenacious. He's good at evading death, especially when that means he'll have to leave you alone."

_He leaves me alone all the time,_ Lloyd thought. But he said, "What do I do now?"

"Take what you can with you. I'll keep the rest safe. Go find him. But you may rest here first, if you wish."

"Thanks." Lloyd's stomach rumbled, so he sat on the old man's floor, took some cheese from his pack and began to munch. He lay all of the items from the box next to one another, looking them over and rubbing his chin. After a short nap, a good meal and a few minutes to think, he began to pack his things.

Lloyd decided to take the small leather book filled with his father's scribbles. He stacked it on top of Virginia's diary and lay the books down on the bottom of his bag. He left the chunk of metal, the wood, and the decorative ancient artifacts that looked like they'd be more comfortable in a museum than anywhere else. He pulled the locket around his neck and strapped the sword to his side. It felt heavy and brittle, and Lloyd didn't know if something that old would even survive combat, but at least it was a weapon at all. He wouldn't need to hide behind his father now, and wouldn't need to stand by and helplessly as his father participated in this Lloyd could not understand nor approve of. The last thing from the chest he chose to take with him was the bluish exsphere. He looked for an accessible place on his body onto which he could apply it, and his left hand seemed to do. He lay the key crest on his skin and pressed the exsphere into it. He wasn't expecting the prickling pain he felt when the little stone came into contact with his skin. But the discomfort was over in a moment, and after the exsphere successfully fused with his hand, a kind of warm glow spread through his body. Somehow he felt that it belonged on him, and for a split second he wondered if he had ever worn it before. Its presence seemed natural to him, but at the same time this unexpected familiarity with it unnerved him. He would definitely have to interrogate his father about this little stone when he finally found him.

But for now, he knew he needed to get to Meltokio, wherever that was. The last scribble in his father's little book was about the only clue he had. He heaved his pack onto his back and thanked the old sage for his kindness. With no time to waste, he walked out the door, closing it behind him, only to return moments later, red-faced.

"Um, hey. Which way is Meltokio?"


	5. Sheena

Within the week Lloyd found himself at the entrance to the Elemental Research Institute. It wasn't hard to find if you just asked around, and in Meltokio, there were plenty of people to ask. He'd never seen a city so big—in Sylvarant the paucity of mana and manpower didn't permit such cities to grow. Not to mention the Desians, who would attack and ravage any town they thought might be big enough to pose a threat to their operations.

He glanced at the exsphere on his hand. His father had never let him wear one, although he wore his own. He had said they were too rare and too dangerous, but here, everyone seemed to have one. Ladies sported them as necklaces, earrings, and bracelets, men in their wristwatches or rings. Exspheres changed with the seasons—what kind was in fashion one month was out the next, and there seemed to be an endless supply of them. Lloyd knew their manufacture took place either in human ranches or facilities like them, so he assumed they required plenty of labor to produce. But there were no human ranches here, so it was a mystery to Lloyd how there were so many. Maybe outside of Meltokio they had factories that took employees, rather than ranches that took slaves.

He had considered upgrading his own exsphere—perhaps buying a fancy Lezarano one that was said to be the most powerful product on the market, but he liked his own; there was something familiar and comforting about it. He didn't know why; maybe he had seen his father wear it at one point.

He rubbed it for good luck and entered the Research Institute. The lobby was dark and slightly smelly, but the receptionist smiled at him kindly, asking if she could help him.

"I'm looking for the resident summoner," he said.

"Sheena? She's busy at the moment, but she's in."

"I'll wait."

Lloyd sat opposite the desk, twiddling his thumbs. He really didn't know what he'd say to her, since he had no idea what his father had wanted to meet her for. He figured he might just show her the book and ask her to decipher the enigmatic drawings, the illegible scribbles, or the seemingly out-of-place instances of complicated mathematics scattered across its insides.

He decided to pull out the book Virginia gave him, if only because he didn't have much else to do to pass the time. He barely got it open when someone emerged from the more shadowy parts of the Institute and into the lobby. Lloyd knew at once that this person wasn't the summoner, so he got up and tried to move past him, but apparently the stranger had another idea. So subtly that it seemed accidental, he blocked Lloyd's way and stared him down, his eyes narrowing. When Lloyd was just about to open his mouth to ask him what his problem was, he stepped aside and strode through the front door with a dramatic swish of his cloak.

Lloyd watched him leave, then decided he didn't have time to chase him down and demand to know what the big idea was. He just went in to see the summoner, who was sitting at a desk, petting what looked like a fox, or may have been a fox in a previous life. It truly was a strange animal, and it reminded him a little of Noishe. He wondered how the old dog was doing—probably getting fat from the leftovers at the Hima inn. He smiled, his mind lost somewhere back in Sylvarant with his dog, when the summoner brought him back.

"Hello? Are you in there?" she asked.

"Oh. Huh. Yeah. I was wondering if you knew anything about what's in this book." He handed her his father's mysterious journal, and she flipped through it.

"What the..." She sat down at the desk, turning page after page, silently.

"What is it, Sheena?" the little fox-thing asked.

"Whoa! It talks!" Lloyd nearly fell over.

"Of course, you moron," the fox replied.

"Corinne, quiet for a moment." Sheena kept reading while Lloyd and Corinne stared at each other, silent. Lloyd wished Noishe could talk. Then at least they could complain about his father to one another.

After a few minutes, the summoner sighed, closed the book and stood up. "It looks like whoever wrote this was trying to forge a pact ring. But it's incomplete. Who gave this to you?"

"My dad."

"Well, he was doing it mostly right. There are a few things he got completely wrong, though. Where's the ring?"

Lloyd shrugged. "I don't think he made it yet."

"Well, he couldn't have, unless he's a dwarf. Which I take it he's not."

Lloyd shook his head.

"And what in the hell do you need a pact ring for? Are you a summoner?"

Lloyd again shook his head.

"Then why do you wanna know?"

"I... um... he sort of went missing. The only clue I have is what he wrote in there. I figured if he came here looking for a summoner, you may have seen him."

"I never met anyone looking to make a pact ring like this. Sorry, kid. Good luck with your search, though." She handed back the old book and Lloyd deflated. So much for a lead. Maybe he could find something else in that little book. He threw it in his bag, sighed, and exited the Institute.

Back out in the open air, the sun nearly blinded him; they kept it so damn dark in that building. He raised his hand to his face and walked blindly down the street. He hadn't got five feet before someone grabbed his collar from behind, spinning him around.

Before he knew if he was in any real danger, his attacker let him go. He lowered his hand and examined his assailant. It seemed to be the man from the lobby, but in the sunlight he could see him a little better—long hair with a blue tinge, elfin face, sharp mouth.

"Where did you get that?" the man demanded.

"Get what?"

"That sword."

"None of your business," Lloyd spat. Who did this guy think he was, grabbing strangers out of nowhere? "And what do you know about it?" He shoved the man away, but as he did so he felt a small pinch on the back of his neck. The stranger retreated, but to Lloyd's horror he had taken the locket with him.

"Well, I'll be damned," he smiled, opening the trinket.

"Give that back."

The man pocketed the locket and its now broken chain, and shot Lloyd a discerning frown. "If you want it back, you should probably board the northbound ship leaving the harbor tomorrow at three in the afternoon. The summoner will be there. Stick with her."

Lloyd fumed, but he knew he couldn't just cut this guy down in the middle of the street. Instead he only watched the strange man walk away with his newfound treasure—the only image of his mother he'd ever owned. He grit his teeth, and decided that it would be best if he were to sleep everything off. He figured he probably had enough money to buy himself a room and a hot meal in one of the slummier hotels, and still have fare for the boat. He would see the summoner tomorrow on the ship, and he would be able to interrogate her then.

That night, he sat in the inn's creaking, moldy, tacky bar, picked at an undercooked meal, and tried to read the book Virginia had given him, which within the first few seconds he knew to be a diary. It started off pretty benignly, right after she had come home from Sybak, where she had a few unkind words to say about her parents, the university, and racial relations between humans, elves, and half-elves. It surprised Lloyd to learn that racism was practically reversed in Tethe'alla, but he figured prejudice was still prejudice, and since there were no Desians here, only regular half-elves, the disdain for them seemed unwarranted.

The diary was interesting, especially in its scathing social commentary, but as he read on, it became more and more scatterbrained. It would skip months, sometimes even years, and before long, Lloyd was accompanying Virginia to the naming of her first child, Raine. It was a purely elfin ceremony, even though Raine's father was human. The naming procedure was sacred but simple: first the baby would be submerged in a river to receive the blessings of the water spirits. Then she would be dried with the cloak of the town elder, before being dressed in hey whatcha doing reading in a fun place like this—

Lloyd looked up to find a smirking redheaded man a little too close to his face. "What?"

"I said, whatcha doing reading in a fun place like this? Live a little, bud!"

"Who are you?"

The man looked shocked for a second, then bellowed out a laugh. "Aw, good one. Come on, we've have been watching you for a while. You're making us all sad, sitting there alone. And with a _book_, no less. For shame, kid. Get over here and have some fun. Drinks are on me." He turned, stumbling, very obviously already intoxicated.

Before Lloyd could even refuse, he was swept up into a crowd of obnoxiously tipsy women, both poor and rich, barmaids and nobles, all clumping around this odd character. He raised a glass and called for more, spilling some on Lloyd's shirt.

Someone had thrust a mug into Lloyd's hand, and out of sheer nervousness, he began to drink it. Pretty soon there was another one. And another—"Zelos, darling, the poor boy's cup has gone dry. Get him another!"

And so he found his night turn into a swirl of skirts, awkward singing, and perpetual dizziness. At some point they played a game that oddly necessitated him taking off his shirt and shoving his face into the bosom of the nearest barmaid. At another point he and one of the women ended up dancing on the table. At yet another point he found himself in the street, opposite Zelos, who had now also taken off his shirt and was jumping up and down, swinging his fists. When the redhead sprung for him, Lloyd raised his hand in defense and it came into reluctant contact with the man's face.

Zelos reeled, hand on his cheek, eyes wide. "You hit me!" he screamed.

Lloyd shook his hand, stinging from the impact. "Of course I hit you. We're fighting, right?"

"Ugh, you don't _hit_ me! Not in the _face_! Dammit!"

Lloyd lowered his fists, confused. What the hell was this guy—

While his guard was down, Zelos decided to get his revenge. His knee came up to meet Lloyd in the stomach while his fist met his temple. Lloyd fell on all fours, winded, and the nausea he had been building up all night came to a head.

"I'm gonna—" he started, but after that only vomit came out. While he was busy hurling on the muddy street, Zelos retreated to his swarm of women, nursing his face. When Lloyd was sure he had regurgitated everything he had eaten in the last week, he looked up to find Zelos and his groupies gone. He was alone, and suddenly very cold. Where had his shirt gone?

He stumbled back into the inn, but by this time the bar was mostly empty. Lloyd decided now may be a good time to crawl into bed, but he barely made it up the stairs and through the door to his room before he collapsed on the floor.

* * *

Lloyd opened his eyes and immediately regretted doing so. Everything was bright, too bright. He laid an arm over his face and turned over to go back to sleep, when he suddenly remembered he had someplace to be. He bolted upright, ignoring the excruciating pain that shot into his head. He struggled to his feet and looked through the window at the sun high in the sky.

_I'm late—oh shit—I'm so late, I won't get there in time, I've missed the boat, I've missed it._ He threw on his boots and grabbed his pack, rushing downstairs, through the bar and out the door. He turned around halfway down the street and burst back into the inn, where he dove under a nearby table for the book he had left there the night before.

He ran down the road and out of the city, suppressing his overwhelming nausea, the pain in his swollen face, and his unbelievable headache. He barely made it down the thoroughfare to the port, stumbling on shaking legs, trying not to open his eyes too wide. Why did the sun have to be out today? And so high up there? What time was it anyway?

When he reached the port, he called to a man he saw sweeping the docks. "Hey! What time is it?"

"About three."

"Is this the northbound ship?" Lloyd asked, gesturing to a huge monster of a boat behind him.

"No, son. That one's going to Altamira. The one you want is over there." The man pointed to a dingy, sad-looking vessel at the end of the dock. "And you want to get on it fast."

Lloyd barely had time to say thanks before he rushed down the dock and to the boat. He threw some money at the man keeping guard over the ramp leading up to the ship, ran across it, and threw himself down onto the deck with a sigh of relief. A few minutes later the boat trembled below him, and he was off. He stayed lying down for the first little while, waiting for his bouts of sickness and pain to pass. He couldn't remember what he did the night before, couldn't remember what he drank or how much. He held his throbbing head, trying to recall what had happened, but only a few snippets came back here and there. Dancing, fighting, spewing his dinner on the street. He couldn't stop himself from blushing in belated embarrassment. He wallowed in self-pity for a while, but when he thought he might be okay to stand, he made his way across the ship, looking for the summoner.

The ship wasn't too big, so he didn't have to search very long. He found her leaning off the stern, arms crossed, head down. He approached her, but she didn't seem to notice him. She was staring intently, seriously, into the water. The little fox-creature sprang from her collar and sat on her shoulder, watching him. The fox said something in her ear and she turned around.

"Hey, Sheena."

"Oh. Hi. Um... what's your name?"

"Lloyd."

"What are you doing here? And what did you do to your face?"

"I didn't do this. I don't really remember what happened. Somehow I got in a fight with some obnoxious ginger guy."

"I know one of those," she said. "He likes to go to that bar right outside the slums and pick up hordes of girls. Sometimes he disappears for days."

"I think that's the one... Zel... hm..."

"Zelos?"

"Yeah. That was him."

"Holy hell, did you smack him one?"

"Yup."

Sheena burst out laughing. "Lloyd, you may be the only person in Meltokio brave enough to hit the bastard."

"Why shouldn't I hit him?"

Sheena blinked at him, dumbfounded. "Because. Well. You don't know?"

Lloyd shook his head.

"He's the Chosen."

He blinked back at her, just as dumbfounded, and then smiled. "Whoops."

Sheena put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll get you a royal pardon. Martel knows he needed a punch or two. So... what are you doing on this creaking death tub? Going to Flanoir?"

"Following you, actually."

Sheena's head tilted curiously. "Oh?"

"That man, the blue-haired weirdo. He told me to stick with you."

"Yuan? He did? He didn't tell me about this."

"I don't trust him, Sheena," the little fox hissed.

Lloyd ignored the suspicious little animal. "He took something of mine and told me to follow you to get it back. I don't know if you believe me, and I can't make you. But I don't see much harm in letting me stick with you."

Sheena turned back to the ocean, silent. Lloyd leaned over the railing beside her, trying to ignore his seasickness.

"Yuan is a half-elf, right?" he asked after a while. Sheena looked at him but didn't answer. "Is he a Desian?"

"A Desian?"

"Never mind. Where I'm from, well, let's just say, um, it's different."

Sheena stared at the horizon for a good long minute before asking, "You're from Sylvarant, aren't you?"

Lloyd nodded. He wasn't sure if anyone here even knew about Sylvarant.

"That's probably why Yuan told you to come with me. You can show me around. But are you sure you're willing to do this?"

Lloyd thought for a moment, wishing he could ask what it was he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn't. He knew he had almost convinced her to take him with her—he couldn't jeopardize this now. He only nodded.

"Fine. Our escort will be here in a few hours. Meet me below deck."

Sheena turned and walked off in silence. From her retreating shoulder, the little fox watched him. It glared him down until Sheena descended into the hull and out of sight.

* * *

The escort had boarded the ship seemingly without the other passengers knowing. He was a quiet, shadowy figure, lounging innocuously on the lower decks until Sheena and Lloyd strode up to him and conveyed their intentions. Without a word, the man led them to the starboard side, motioning to a creaking dinghy swaying sickly in the freezing water. Lloyd shivered as he stepped over the side of the ship into the smaller, quieter vessel. Snow fluttered around him in the chilly wind, and he pulled his traveling cloak tighter around him. He had only seen snow a couple of times, mostly from a distance, on the peaks of the mountains around Palmacosta. In the city itself, it only rained.

Both Sheena and the escort were silent the whole way there (wherever "there" was), and Lloyd followed suit. All the while, the little fox on Sheena's shoulder eyed him suspiciously. After an hour or two they came to a mountainous rock jutting above the ocean's choppy surface. It was surrounded by others just like it, and Lloyd didn't know why this one was so special, until they pulled into a rickety dock and disembarked. Carved into the side of the mountain was the largest door Lloyd had ever seen, crafted with blue metal and menacing as hell. He felt himself gulp.

The escort led them inside, where to Lloyd's relief, it was a fair bit warmer. Down the halls they went, through automatic doors, up an elevator, down more halls... Lloyd almost felt himself get motion sick again. Finally they came to a room tackily decked out in red drapes, gold furnishings and far too many plants. At a desk at the opposite end of the room was Yuan, who stood to greet them.

"Lloyd, I didn't think you would come." Lloyd didn't remember ever telling this guy his name.

"Well, here I am."

Yuan smiled slyly. "Sheena. The Rheiards are ready. There is an exsphere for you waiting in the loading bay. Everything you need is there. We will meet you there in a few minutes."

Sheena raised an eyebrow but exited, leaving Lloyd alone with the freaky man who was so fond of stealing precious jewelry.

"Lloyd." Yuan sat down. "If you ever want to see your father again, you need to make sure Sheena gets her job done."

Lloyd bit his lip angrily. "What have you done with my dad? If you've done anything... And what job? What are you talking about?"

"I don't have him. Gods, no. He's too much of a hassle for me. He and I are actually on the same side, you see, even if he doesn't understand it. So are you. If you want him back, you're going to have to go with Sheena."

"And do what?"

"Stop the Sylvaranti World Regeneration. Kill its Chosen."

Lloyd was silent for a few moments. "Why?" he asked finally.

"Explaining will take time. Time you don't have. Sheena's about to go."

Lloyd grimaced. He didn't want to kill anyone, and he certainly didn't have the skill to be an assassin. But if he wanted to see his dad again...

"I… can't," Lloyd said.

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave." Yuan stood. "To the north is Flanoir. It'll be hard going. You'll have to swim through the arctic waters, but I think you'll make it."

Lloyd hesitated. "Wait."

"The town isn't that bad, you know. You can make a life there, I suppose." Yuan gave him a look that said he was running out of time. Going once... going twice…

"Fine. Okay. Just give me back my thing."

"Of course." Yuan reached into a desk drawer and tossed him the locket, now without its chain. "Better hurry. Sylvarant awaits."

Lloyd didn't like the smile Yuan wore as he bid him farewell.

* * *

The Rheiards looked a lot like the glider Virginia had built, and seemed to do the same thing in practice, but with one extra feature—they were the only thing that could go between Sylvarant and Tethe'alla. The trip itself was eerie but not too trying. Traveling between the two worlds felt something like getting flattened and then blown up again like a balloon, but it didn't hurt that much.

They landed in the desert, next to what appeared to be a human ranch, but what turned out to be another Rheiard loading dock. He and Sheena set off toward an oasis in the distance. She said that Yuan had been unable to provide information on where the Chosen was at that time, but since the first seal was in the desert, they might as well start the search here.

When they reached the oasis town of Triet, it was well into the afternoon, and frankly, hot as balls. They decided to look around town and ask about the Chosen. Not many people had much to say in the market, so they decided to pass the oasis to ask the local fortuneteller if she had seen them. As soon as he was near enough, Lloyd sprinted down to the edge of the water like his ass was on fire.

"What is it?" Sheena scrambled after him, sounding worried.

Things came rushing back. He stared into the water for a good long minute, remembering. "This is where I learned to swim," he said. He took off his shoes and dunked his feet in the water.

"In case you didn't know, idiot, we have a job to do!" the fox squeaked from Sheena's shoulder.

"Shh, Corinne. Let's rest for a few minutes. You don't know how tiring heat can be for humans."

"Whatever Sheena, you just want to go swimming."

"Guilty as charged."

* * *

"We shouldn't have gone swimming," Sheena muttered as they trekked through the desert.

"Tell me about it!" Corinne cried.

Lloyd thought it was all worth it, though. He was glad that they had waited to talk to the fortuneteller, who promptly sent them on their way by informing them that the first seal had already been released, and that the Chosen's party was heading for Palmacosta as they spoke. Then she charged them an abhorrent amount of money, which is something fortunetellers are, of course, liable to do.

"There's only one way to Palmacosta, and it's over those mountains," Lloyd said as they walked. "And there's only one way over those mountains. If we hurry, we can catch them at Ossa Trail."

Lloyd was so caught up in this whole mess of finding the Chosen he hadn't had much time to consider the morality of it all. If this world's Chosen was anything like Tethe'alla's, he might be able to throw a punch or two in their direction, but he wasn't sure if he could actually go through with assassination. There was also Yuan's threat to take into consideration: if he ever wanted to see his dad again, he would have to do this—or at least go along with it until he got a better lead on where his father could be.

They had to stop for the night under a windswept boulder. They decided not to build a fire, and instead scanned the horizon for light that may indicate another campsite. Maybe the Chosen was around here, maybe not. Maybe their target had decided to keep hidden and not build a fire either.

So Sheena and Lloyd ate a cold meal in silence, until Lloyd's curiosity got the better of him. "Did Yuan give you the order to kill the Chosen?"

"No," she answered. "I was issued a decree by the Tethe'allan monarchy. Yuan agreed to supply the necessary equipment."

"Why would Tethe'alla want Sylvarant's Chosen dead?"

"Because when Sylvarant prospers, Tethe'alla dwindles. And vice versa. If this world's regeneration is completed, mana will flow from Tethe'alla into Sylvarant, and we would go downhill."

Lloyd thought for a moment about the mana shortages in Sylvarant. "Why is it like that?"

"Don't ask me. I don't know. I'm just here to save my world."

Lloyd unpacked his bedroll and curled inside. "What does Yuan have to do with any of this?"

Sheena lay down, staring at the stars. "I don't rightly know what he has to gain from this. Maybe money. Those Rheiards cost a fortune. All I know is that he's well equipped and willing to do business. Flying machines, exspheres, technology, everything. Practically all of Tethe'alla is dependent on it, and Yuan charges us for all of it."

_And how does he know so much about my dad?_ Lloyd wanted to ask, but couldn't. He only turned on his other side.

His father was in his mind, dropping him into the cool oasis. Lloyd clung to him, desperately afraid, but his dad floated him on his back and told him to kick his legs. Lloyd gulped and protested, but eventually obeyed, swinging his arms.

"Don't let me go!" he screamed, gurgling water. "Don't let go!"

His father only laughed and did just that. And to Lloyd's surprise, he stayed afloat. He paddled desperately after his father, who moved through the water like a fish, always evading him.

"I'm a sea monster, Lloyd. I'm going to eat you."

"Stop it!"

"Swim for your life, little sailor."

"Stop!"

For a brief moment Lloyd thought he might indeed have to swim for his life, so he paddled desperately toward the shore. With his face half-submerged, his father swam after him like a wily predator. He dove under him, kicked off the bottom and came splashing up under Lloyd, catching him in his arms. Lloyd heard his gasps of panic turn quickly into laughs as his dad threw him up in the air, caught him again and carried him to shore. There was water all over him, dripping down his face—

And with a jolt Lloyd realized his cheeks were wet. He lifted his head and wiped his face, remembering where he was. He glanced up to find Corinne watching him silently. The little fox sat beside a sleeping Sheena, wordless. It didn't take its eyes off him as he lay back down, dried his cheeks, closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep.

* * *

"I saw your son today." Yuan didn't know if Kratos could hear him. Mithos had done a number on him and strung him up, arms spread, on the wall of one of the more isolated storage rooms on Derris Kharlan. Gods above, it was a wonder he was still alive—but Yuan knew Mithos was careful. He couldn't let his seal with Origin die, or else it was all over. All three of them knew that. But it looked like Kratos, with his bloody head and limp body, wasn't knowing much of anything at all these days.

Yuan decided to continue anyway, to see if he could get a response. "Guess what he had with him? Flamberge."

He thought he saw a twitch move up Kratos' suspended arm.

"And a very sweet family portrait. I don't know how you managed to get all that to him, but he's alive and well, and looking for you. He's off to Sylvarant to kill the Chosen."

Kratos' eyes barely opened, but Yuan saw that he was listening. Yuan had also previously made sure Kratos would be the only one listening. He knew Derris Kharlan as well as anyone—and especially where its eyes and ears were. Mithos had done them a favor by stuffing Kratos in the back where no one went, and no one listened.

"I'm sure you'd like me to kill you and all, but sadly you've gone and got yourself noticed. If I let you go now, or even if I finished you off, Mithos would know it was me. I suspect he already knows I've defected. He'll bring the hammer down on me soon enough. I guess after the Chosen dies. And with the Renegades gone, who will be your ally? Who will help you release the seal?"

Kratos seemed to have stopped paying attention, but Yuan didn't care. "If I were you, I'd hope that Lloyd gets his act together and puts you out of your misery."

At this point, Kratos was unresponsive, but Yuan knew that he would internalize anything he said involving Lloyd. It would just take time. He figured his work there was done, and slipped out into the starry atrium of Derris-Kharlan, confident he was not being watched.


	6. The Chosen

"There they are," Sheena whispered. She motioned slowly, subtly, toward a small group of figures navigating the boulders around the entrance to Ossa Trail. Lloyd squinted; he counted three individuals, all appearing to be light-haired, but from this distance he couldn't tell them apart.

"We should probably buy some binoculars," he said, looking over his shoulder for Sheena, but she was already on her way down the hill. She crouched through the sparse underbrush of the Ossa hillside, quick and quiet. Lloyd swore under his breath and stumbled after her, desperately trying to keep the noise to a minimum. With each crack of a stick beneath his feet he worried a little more he might botch the whole operation, but Sheena didn't seem to notice him scrambling after her, making a mess of the mountainside. He dislodged rocks, uprooted saplings, sent pebbles tumbling down the slope, all the while cursing himself for making such a racket.

Lloyd barely caught up with Sheena when she sprang from the underbrush and into the group's path.

"Which one of you is the Chosen?" she demanded.

A sprightly girl with blonde hair smiled genially. "Oh, that would be me."

"Prepare to die."

Sheena launched at her just as Lloyd managed to disentangle himself from the bushes and stumble onto the road. The Chosen fell back in surprise, arms flailing, as Sheena blurred into a rush of jet-black hair and pink obi. Lloyd stepped after her, eyes locked on the flurry of her running feet, clutching the hilt of his sword.

He almost allowed himself to count on Sheena killing the Chosen before he had to. But evidently the gods, or someone perhaps a little more mundane, had a different idea.

Just as the Chosen scrambled away from her attacker, and before her companions could reach her to offer help, her arm swung out and a sharp click echoed throughout the small canyon. The mountain, or something beneath it, let out a pained, metallic moan, and just as Sheena crouched to spring the final short distance to her target, a hole appeared under her. She froze for a split second, looking from her feet, to the Chosen, to the antiquated lever she had triggered during her fall, and disappeared into the darkness.

Lloyd skidded to a halt at the edge of the hole, but it was not the fear of falling, or the shock of seeing his companion tumble into the mineshaft that petrified him in his tracks.

"Genis?" he called. As the Chosen pulled herself to her feet, Lloyd's old friend rushed out from behind her, something of a worried smile crossing his face.

"Lloyd?" Genis gaped in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Lloyd couldn't very easily tell him that he was going to assassinate the Chosen. "Well, I—"

"It's dangerous here!" Genis said. "Were you going after that lady?"

"Is she your friend?" the Chosen asked. "Do you suppose she's okay?" Lloyd would've expected the question to have more of an accusatory tone to it, but the way the Chosen inquired about the fate of her would-be assassin struck him as nothing but concerned.

"If you're with her, then you have five seconds to turn around and walk away." A silver-haired woman, tall and narrow-eyed, raised her staff in his direction. From the looks of her, she may have been Genis' older sister.

Genis turned to the woman and lay a hand on her arm. "Raine, wait."

_Raine?_ Lloyd bit his lip. This was getting a little too strange. His brain chugged into overdrive, trying to guess if this was the same Raine from Virginia's narrative, if Raine was a common name... he wondered if he had suddenly gotten himself embroiled in something he couldn't handle. He looked from Raine's incredulous face to Genis' worried one, to the Chosen's frown of kind concern. _Shit, I can't do this,_ he thought, and instead of drawing his sword and cutting down this naive Chosen where she stood, he jumped down after Sheena into the dark safety of the mineshaft. He slid to the dusty bottom and glanced up at the dull rectangle of light above him. A few shadows danced through the gloom, but no one followed him down. He waited for a few seconds, eyes never leaving the grey glow of the mineshaft entrance. He heard no noises, and after a while even the shadows retreated and the mine lay still, so he turned his thoughts and eyes from the Chosen's path above him and concerned himself with Sheena.

He found her lying facedown in the darkness. Corinne wiggled and nuzzled in the crook of her elbow, muttering to her to wake up. Lloyd knelt beside the little fox and hoisted its owner onto his back. She was altogether lighter than he expected, but he still bent with the effort of hoisting her limp body. Back aching with the effort of carrying Sheena's dead weight, he started what would no doubt be a long and possibly hopeless search for an exit.

The only guide Lloyd had was the soft tinkling of Corinne's decorative bell. When he left the light of the open shaft, he could see nothing but the expansive darkness of the tunnels, hear nothing but Sheena's labored breathing and the sounds of the little fox as it padded ahead of him.

"I smell fresh air," Corinne said. "It's faint, but follow me. I might be able to lead you out."

Lloyd briefly considered whether Corinne was going to lead him to a pit or other such trap just out of spite, but with Sheena on his back, he discarded the idea. The little fox may not like him much, but it adored Sheena, so it wouldn't sacrifice her just to screw with him. He followed the spirit as best he could, tripping over dislodged rocks, kicking up dust and occasionally running into an abandoned cart or other machine he could not identify in the darkness.

He did not know how long he'd been wandering when Sheena began to stir on his back.

"Wait," he called to Corinne, and set Sheena down against the wall of the tunnel. She groaned and muttered for a bit, voice raspy. When he touched her cheek, he heard her suck air in through her nose, like she was lazily waking up after a long, restful sleep.

"What the hell?" she said. "Why can't I see?"

"Because it's dark," Lloyd answered. "You fell down a mineshaft."

"Oh good, I thought I went blind for a moment. I suppose I won't know for sure until we get out of here."

"Yeah. I may be blind too, for all I can see."

He heard Sheena struggle to her feet. "Did you kill the Chosen?"

Lloyd shook his head uselessly in the dark. "No. I came to help you instead." He smiled at her, even though she could not see it. "'Prepare to die?' Who says that, Sheena? Maybe you would've gotten the Chosen if you hadn't warned her before you struck."

She sighed and groped for his arm. "I guess I thought it would go better than that. That I would be…"

"Cooler?" he offered.

"Shut up." She gripped his arm and he held still as she used it to pull herself to her feet. "Where's Corinne?"

"I'm here, Sheena. Follow me, I'll lead us out."

The two of them stumbled clumsily but steadily after the little fox. Blind and tired, they had to stop occasionally to cough up the dust they'd disturbed. It seemed no one had used this tunnel in a long, long time.

Lloyd could swear that he was going nowhere, that they had been walking endlessly in the ancient circular maze of this mineshaft, but soon he spied a tiny crack of light in the distance. Corinne crawled up to it and examined it, bell chiming excitedly.

"That looks a little small for us," Sheena sighed as Corinne burrowed through.

"Kick just above it," the fox called back. Its little voice was not too heavily muffled by the wall—perhaps it was not as thick as it looked.

"What?"

"Just do it."

In the dim light Lloyd could see Sheena shrug and take a few steps back. She sprang forward, launching off one leg and extending the other, and kicked above the crack. As her foot made contact, a massive wooden creak echoed down the shaft. The whole wall fell away with a terrible groan and bright light flooded his vision.

"I guess we're out," Sheena said, walking over the remains of what was once a large door.

"No sign of them," Lloyd said, shielding his eyes and looking around.

"I'm in no state to take 'em out anyway," Sheena said, chuckling. "And neither are you."

Lloyd looked down at himself, covered in dirt and soot, and at Sheena, who was even worse—she also had a dried stream of blood from her forehead to her chin. She looked so filthy and ridiculous Lloyd had to laugh.

"We should find a safe place, rest up, and follow them," Sheena said. "Or we could find out where the next seal is and beat them to it."

"Good luck with that," Lloyd answered. "No one really knows where they are. It's a miracle they found the first one so fast."

"Huh. In Tethe'alla the locations of the elemental seals are common knowledge."

"Well, that's because you have a whole research institute for them. We can't afford that sort of thing here."

"Anyway, we should get out of here before they come down and see us like this. An assassin getting caught in this state of disarray would be pretty embarrassing. If anyone back home found out, I'd never live it down."

* * *

Lloyd was back on his own turf.

He had come and gone from Palmacosta so many times, it sort of felt like he was returning for the school year. But the season was wrong, and he just happened to have an otherworldly assassin in tow rather than his overprotective father. Other than that, things were as they'd always been—sailors shouting to one another across the docks, fisherwomen and their children piling up their catch, schoolchildren out of uniform running amok. A few Desians lounged in the shadows of the city, but few paid them any mind—after all, word had it that Magnius had reached his annual quota. These visitors would not pluck unsuspecting victims from the streets, but the populace, including Lloyd and Sheena, still steered well clear of them.

He had hoped to head the Chosen off while she was still in the city, but she always seemed to be a step ahead of him. He learned from a friendly but toothless sailor that the flaxen-haired girl and her party had already left Palmacosta and were on their way across the continent (or at least that's what he gathered through the man's nearly incomprehensible lisp). It wasn't suspicious for a local boy like him to inquire about the Chosen's visit to his town, and a few familiar faces let him know in as much detail as possible where they had seen the Chosen, and where she was headed. From the stories he got, it appeared that she had gone in several different directions at once—to Hakenosia, to Thoda, back across the ocean to Izoold, that she was still in the city, praying at the temple. He could only confirm the latter was untrue when he visited the church himself and found it empty.

He and Sheena left Palmacosta as quickly as they had come (which was a damn shame, since Lloyd could've gone for a good meal or two at some old haunts). Before he could blink, they were again sleeping on the ground under the cloudy sky, again eating dehydrated Tethe'allan rations and shaking stones out of their boots. On the way across the southern continent, Lloyd could not help thinking about Genis and his sister, about the weird solicitude the Chosen had shown toward the woman who'd tried to kill her.

He wondered if he would be able to justify his actions to his old schoolmate. He could always argue that the salvation of Tethe'alla depended on the success of this mission, but then again, it would be an irrevocable betrayal of his home world. Not that Sylvarant had been that kind to him; apart from Palmacosta, most of it was wilderness, rural towns and monsters. Not to mention the Desians, who crawled all over it like termites on a rotting log. Perhaps Sylvarant was too far-gone to be saved, with the sorry state it was in. Besides, allowing the Chosen to succeed may rid the world of Desians, but they'd just crop up in Tethe'alla, since according to Sheena, the respective declines and prosperities of the two worlds were mirrored. He wondered if Genis would buy it, or if he would accuse Lloyd of being insane. Everyone in Sylvarant thought Tethe'alla was just a myth, after all. It would not surprise him to learn Genis would hate him for choosing one world over the other—moreover choosing the world that everyone thought didn't even exist.

There was something irreparably unfair about the whole system—but Lloyd didn't know how to fix it. All he knew was that in order to get his father back, in order to get some answers about that damnable Tower and the angels inside, he would have to follow Sheena. He was not sure if he would have the courage to thrust his sword through the Chosen, with her big eyes and kind smile, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. In truth, he didn't want the Chosen to die—he didn't want anyone to die, but he had so little control. All he needed was more control, then he might be able to do some good.

So he stayed with Sheena, who, in her silent stoicism, seemed to also have her reservations about her assigned mission. Neither of them broached the subject—they simply followed the Chosen, that well-intentioned young girl only doing her job like the rest of them.

They tracked her across the continent, always a few days behind (Sheena figured since they had revealed their intentions, the Chosen took the necessary precautions to evade them). But after stopping more than a few strangers and inquiring about the her whereabouts, they managed to track her all the way to Thoda Geyser. Strangely enough, it may have been the one place in the world Lloyd had never visited with his father. He counted that as an asset; the fewer bad or confusing memories associated with any place, the better.

* * *

"What are they doing?" Lloyd muttered, crouching a safe distance from the geyser. He and Sheena had perched themselves on an outcropping high above the tourist walkway, where they could get a good view of the surrounding area, and the Chosen's party.

"Lemme see those," Sheena grabbed the binoculars. "They—there's a bridge. They're going over the geyser."

"This must be the seal."

"We should follow them inside—wait. The bridge is… it disappeared."

"Figures," Lloyd sighed. "We should go down there and watch."

"No, we shouldn't. That would be suspicious as hell."

"Oh, like people with binoculars are suspicious in a sightseeing area!" Lloyd said. "Should we wait for them at the entrance until they come out?"

"There are far too many people here. Not only will they probably come to the aid of their Chosen One, well, there are kids there."

It wasn't like kids in Sylvarant were unaccustomed to violence. Many of them had seen relatives beaten and kidnapped by Desians—especially Palmacostan kids. But Lloyd found himself agreeing with Sheena; if there was anything he didn't want to do, it was resemble Desians in word or deed. So they merely waited, watching the geysers, and the people, and one particularly badly-behaved dog that seemed to delight in snapping at anyone who dared to come near him.

Sheena and Lloyd relaxed a bit—the day was warm and sunny, and the cool breeze from the ocean was particularly refreshing. They took turns laying their heads down and staring into the cloudless sky—always one had to keep their eye locked on the entrance to what they now knew was the water seal.

"I find it interesting that there are summon spirits in this world," Sheena said.

"Have you met any from here?" Lloyd asked, watching the bad dog chase its tail through the binoculars.

"No, but as a Tethe'allan summoner, it's part of my education to know all of the spirits, in this world and mine."

"Have you made pacts with any?"

Sheena began to sweat. "Well, um, there's Corinne. A man-made one. Um. We kind of made the pact… together."

"Sheena rescued me from the Research Institute," Corinne chimed in.

"You mean, you weren't supposed to come with us to Sylvarant?" Lloyd asked the fox.

"Of course not. They needed me for experiments."

"Corinne. You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to," Sheena patted the little fox on the head.

"But it's true, Sheena. If it weren't for you…"

"They're coming," Lloyd said. He glanced through the binoculars again, at the entrance to the seal. Three people emerged, filthy and exhausted. Genis, looking relieved but a little worried, Raine, grim but determined, and the Chosen herself, smiling radiantly as always. Lloyd couldn't help but feel as if he truly was looking upon something holy. Perhaps that was one reason the Chosen was such an inspirational figure; she was so worthy of her title that she inspired awe in even the most irreligious of people.

The dog that had snapped at so many passers-by turned on her as she walked past. But she only reached out a hand, despite her protective companions, and patted the dog on the head. It immediately stopped growling, and instead sat down, lowered its hackles, and began to lick her fingers. She grinned, stroking the dog's ears, and knelt down to its level. The dog's owner pounced forward to grab his animal and apologize, but the canine only licked the Chosen's face, wagging its tail. She laughed, and slowly turned her head. Purposefully, perhaps too intentionally, she raised her eyes right to Lloyd's hiding spot.

He stopped breathing. She seemed to look straight through his binoculars and into his eyes, and their gazes locked for an intense, seemingly infinite moment. She continued smiling, raised a hand as if to greet him, stood up and moved on, leaving a perfectly calm, contented dog in her wake.

* * *

Over the next few days, as they followed the Chosen north toward Hakenosia Peak, Lloyd couldn't bring himself to tell Sheena that she had seen them. She had seen them, and she had not cared. She had only smiled.

Maybe she had some sort of trick up her sleeve. Maybe she had a secret weapon and was tempting them to just try to kill her. But somehow he knew it wasn't true. He thought of her almost every second—her gentleness, her dutiful smile, and he secretly knew he couldn't kill her. He just couldn't. He still wasn't sure if he could stop Sheena, though. Despite her reservations, she was determined to save her world.

He tore himself apart, silently, while he followed the assassin over the peak and to the north. He imagined himself killing the Chosen, and reeled at the thought. He'd never killed anyone before, but he had seen his father do it. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't glamorous, as tales of Mithos the Hero would attest. But neither was decay. The failing crops, the lack of mana, the Desians—all the terrible things that would befall Tethe'alla—those weren't pretty either. And then there was the problem with his father. What if he was already dead? What if…

Lloyd forced the thoughts from his head; the exchanges, the sacrifices, the imbalance the two worlds were forced to endure. There was nothing he could do to change it, at least not right now, not until he found his dad again and asked him more than a few questions.

In the meantime, he read Virginia's diary. Extensive traveling and Sheena's taciturnity had afforded him the luxury of taking some time to concentrate on it. And the further he got, the surer he became that Raine was Virginia's Raine, and Genis was her second child. But that would make them half-elves. Lloyd couldn't blame Genis for enrolling in the Palmacosta academy as an elf, since being a half-elf in Sylvarant came with all the unwanted baggage of Desianhood. Still, it angered Lloyd that Genis had to hide his identity to be accepted. But if it was bad here, it was even worse in Tethe'alla; the siblings had been lucky to escape that world and come here. Lloyd hadn't yet arrived at the part of the diary illustrating travel between one world and the next, but sped onward as fast as his semi-literate brain could carry him, impatient to arrive at the passages that would tell him more about the mysterious links between them. His father had mentioned three that he knew of, one of which was the Tower of Salvation. Maybe Virginia knew about the other two, but she hadn't mentioned them yet.

Ever since they had passed over the peak, the Tower of Salvation lingered on the far horizon, looming. Lloyd avoided looking at it. He did not need such an ostentatious reminder of his own ineptitude.

Martel above, if only he had been stronger, if only he had been a little smarter, a little faster, he may have been able to escape that damn Tower with his dad. If only he'd listened, if only—

No. That was enough. He had to stop blaming himself for others' misdeeds, the unfairness and suffering. It would do no good to turn himself into a scapegoat. Perhaps he could instead pin this whole mess on that mysterious, cold-eyed stranger that had captured—and probably killed—his father.

He thought of revenge as he sat staring out the inn's window in Luin. He and Sheena checked in as a newlywed couple from Asgard, so they were confident they would be courteously left alone. Lloyd suspected there was a seal around here, so this wasn't a bad place to lie in wait for word of the Chosen. The town was tranquil and the food was good, so he had no problem with it. Sheena, however, was itching to get her job done and get back home.

"I'm going out," she said almost immediately after they entered their room. Their fake identity had necessitated only having one bed, but Lloyd didn't mind sleeping on the floor. He had built himself a little nest with his dirty clothes and decided to take a nap while Sheena was gone, presumably searching for clues.

After a day of lounging and collecting rumors of the Chosen's whereabouts, Sheena burst through their door, panicked. "She's in Asgard," she said.

"That's not surprising," Lloyd answered.

"The next seal is in the Balacruf Mausoleum. We can catch her there. It's not like Thoda—we'll be able to corner her without an audience."

Lloyd jumped up, packed his things, but his head was spinning. This was it, he was going to finish the job... but again, those doubts of his own determination surfaced. He forced his inner dialogue to shut down while he concentrated on packing his things and getting out of Luin.

Within the hour, he, Sheena and Corinne marched out of town, due south. It didn't matter that the sun would set in only a few hours; Sheena seemed determined to find the Chosen and kill her this time. She said they would walk all night if it came down to it. After a while, when they reached the crest of a large hill, Lloyd looked behind him to the town they had just left.

He squinted, biting his lip. Something was wrong. He fumbled for his binoculars and raised them to his eyes. As he did, the sharp scent of new smoke met his nostrils.

"Sheena," he called. "Sheena!"

"What?"

"Desians. Look." He handed her the binoculars. Black smoke rose from Luin's central plaza, and a small flicker of fire spread outward from the square. He thought he could hear screams, even from this far away, but he had to admit he may have just imagined them. Sheena grit her teeth and swore, surveying the town. He knew she had learned a bit about the Desians, and the havoc they wrought—he had told her the stories.

Sheena just dropped the binoculars and headed down the far side of the hill.

"Where are you going?" Lloyd shouted.

"I'm going to kill the Chosen," she answered. "That is my mission, that is my top priority."

"Sheena, Luin is on fire! They're going to kill half the town and enslave the rest!"

She grimaced. "This is the only chance I'll ever get to save my world."

"How can you even talk about saving the world when you can't even save the people right in front of you?" Lloyd stared at her a moment, mouth pulled into a taut scowl. She did not move, so he took a deep breath and turned back toward Luin. "We have to help them. The Chosen will still be there when we're done." He sprinted down the hill, toward the burning town, not bothering to look behind him.

"Lloyd, wait!" Sheena called. "Oh, hell." She stood at the crest of the hill for a moment before running after him, Corinne trailing close behind.


	7. Luin

By the time Lloyd and Sheena burst onto Luin's cobblestone streets, half the town was alight and all of it was teeming with Desians. He had both blades drawn and was ready to throw himself at the nearest enemy, but Sheena gripped his sleeve and tugged him back into the safety of the shadows. She shoved him behind her and they crept along a narrow alley, peering out into the main street.

A group of soldiers were rounding up what looked to be schoolgirls no more than twelve. One of the girls had grabbed a shovel and swung it at the faces of her attackers, but the Desians merely scoffed at her effort. She brandished it wildly, screaming insults, taunts, threats, but a soldier easily swatted her weapon aside. In a flash of silver, his machete swiped through the shovel's handle and into the girl's arm.

When the schoolgirl yelped and fell to her knees, anger burst from Lloyd's gut outward. His hand gripped his sword so tight it numbed, his exsphere warmed at the prospect of violence, and he couldn't keep himself from giving in. "Wait, don't—" Sheena hissed, but he was already moving. Lloyd sprang from his hiding place, sprinted toward the group, and sliced the nearest Desian through the middle.

He managed to take out two more before the others noticed that a boy with an oversized red sword had appeared from nowhere to cut them down. They turned on him, and the schoolgirls, too smart to waste the opportunity, dashed away. In a flurry of skirts and ponytails, they fled the scene, sprinting into the shadows on scuffed leather shoes.

Lloyd breathed a sigh of relief when the girls disappeared from his vision. Now all he had to deal with was the problem of being hopelessly outnumbered.

His father had trained him well enough. With his newly acquired though decidedly ancient sword, he parried and swung just like his father taught him. He knew he could manage to keep one or two of the soldiers at bay, but for each one he fought off, another replaced it, swarming around him like a bunch of metal, faceless bees. It wasn't long before he found himself on his knees, raising the sword only to stave off the dozens of blows that came down on him. _Hell, Lloyd, you can't get killed by a bunch of lackeys,_ he screamed to himself, rapidly losing hope.

In his moment of desperation, a faint glow caught his eye from his raised hand, and after a fraction of a second of confusion, he realized it was his exsphere. He felt a surge of warmth burst from his hand, and strength rolled through his veins, around his heart and out his muscles. He grunted and swung upward with such force his blade left a blue glow in its wake. The Desians backed off momentarily, discouraged by his sudden show of power, and Lloyd struggled to his feet, hand burning, breath ragged. Lloyd welcomed the exphere's help; he almost enjoyed the sensation coursing through his arms, but he was still outnumbered, and unsure if the little rock on his hand could truly save him.

Then Sheena was there, seemingly out of nowhere, spinning what looked to be a deck of cards in her hands. She flipped gray paper in her fingers, lunging forward, and a burst of black smoke engulfed their attackers. When Lloyd struggled upright and the smoke finally cleared, there were nine dead Desians at their feet, charred to a crisp. Sheena and Lloyd remained unburnt and unharmed.

"What was that?" Lloyd asked as he flicked blood from his sword and trotted up to her.

"Family secret," she replied, panting.

"Well, keep that up, and Luin could be saved."

"Yeah," she answered. Her eyes wandered to her feet, and she wore a frown that told him she wasn't quite convinced.

Lloyd lowered his sword, exsphere pulsating, and decided that one way or another he'd convince her. They had cleared this street of Desians, but he could still hear a struggle in the direction of the town square. He motioned to Sheena and ran down the main street, through the red glow of fires and the thick billows of grey smoke. When they burst into the square, Lloyd saw most of the residents of Luin had gathered by the fountain. Lloyd didn't know if they had decided to take refuge there but then were ambushed by Desians, or if they had been herded there for roundup. Either way, he saw there were hundreds of people, all jostling, screaming, being prodded from all sides with Desian machetes. Lloyd didn't know if he could take all of them on, but the glow and heat from his exsphere told him he might as well try.

"Wait, Lloyd!" he heard Sheena yell after him as he jumped on the nearest Desian. He finished him off and rounded on the next one, who was already swinging his spear at him. Lloyd parried uncertainly, but managed to slide under the brunt of the strike and slice through the man's exposed leg. He whipped his head around to see his small effort had pierced a hole in the Desians' tight fence circling the square. Townspeople began to leak out, avoiding the remaining guards, and they scattered to safety. A few dozen townsfolk managed to escape before the Desians regained control of the crowd, and sent extra soldiers after these two mysterious armed travelers who hoped to unravel their plans.

As more soldiers appeared seemingly from nowhere, Lloyd was driven back to the edge of the square, exsphere glowing, muscles shaking, cursing his decision to jump in the fray without thinking. Again, Sheena came to his rescue.

"I'm sorry, grandpa," she said quietly before raising her cards high over her head. White light blanketed the scene for a split-second, and then, from the hazy gleam, a monster emerged.

Lloyd couldn't help but scream in surprise. The floating, long-fingered thing bore down on the Desians, stabbing, slashing, and swiping with its massive claws. Mercifully, it avoided the townspeople, instead choosing to mow down as many Desians as it could. It was a frantic and confusing spectacle; bloodstained helmets flying from shoulders, armored soldiers scrambling helplessly away from the black claws of the creature, weapons clattering to the ground with arms still clutching them.

After a few minutes of absolute carnage, none of which Lloyd completely understood, the Desians estimated their chances of taking Luin were simply not good, and, to the entire town's delight, called a retreat.

Sheena's death-monster followed them a ways out of town, hacking and slashing with its knife-like fingers, before returning to her. In full view of the terrified townspeople, she bowed deeply to the creature. It nodded and disappeared in a puff of grey smoke.

"What in the hell was that thing?" Lloyd muttered. He realized nearly the entire town was staring at them now, but whether it was with fear or awe, or a little of both, he couldn't tell.

"It was meant for the Chosen," Sheena whispered.

A man who looked to be in charge separated himself from the crowd and approached them. "Strangers," he said solemnly. "I don't know what that monster was, but it saved us today—you saved us today. And for that I thank you. You can stay here for the night, and we'll feed you."

Lloyd and Sheena looked at each other and smiled weakly. In that moment, when they glanced at each other's soiled faces and tired eyes, a tacit agreement rose between them that the assassination of the Chosen could wait, for now.

Instead they spent the evening tallying up the dead, the missing, and the injured. Seventeen casualties, sixty-seven when you counted the dead Desians. Forty injured, twenty-three missing. Lloyd helped carry the dead and injured to the right places, bind wounds, administer medicine, and altogether make himself handy.

He was wrapping a civilian's lacerated leg when one of the schoolgirls he had rescued, the one with the shovel, sat down opposite him. "Thank you," she said. He noticed there was a spatter of blood on her cheek.

"I did what I could," he answered. The villager squeaked as Lloyd tightened the gauze on her ankle.

"They took my older brother."

"I'm sorry."

"Teach me to fight."

Lloyd smiled. Many Sylvaranti kids, especially those who lived near human ranches, either were taught to fight or wanted to learn. When it came down to it, though, there wasn't much they could do to protect their townships and families. There were too many Desians, too well-trained and too well-armed. There was certainly no way a child could make a difference, even if she was proficient with a weapon.

He put an arm on hers, accidentally wiping some blood on her sleeve. "I can't. I'm sorry. But I promise, if they come back, I'll defend you."

There was no doubt that they would come back. Perhaps in a day, perhaps a week. However long it took them to regroup, resupply and relaunch an attack, they would. The people of Luin would have to fortify the town, devise an defense and escape plan, keep the injured and the incapable in a safe place, arm all able bodies… and Lloyd didn't know how much time they had. Not enough, probably.

He and Sheena slept in the Mayor's house that night. They tried to avoid the inn, where they may be recognized as "that married couple," and the last thing they needed after such a day was inquisitions about their identities. Right now most of the town was not concerned with the secret lives of these two travelers that had saved them; they were more preoccupied with preparations for the next Desian invasion.

"That's some exsphere you have there," Sheena told him as they helped reinforce the doors to the Church of Martel, which would serve as the town's stronghold.

"Yeah," Lloyd answered vaguely.

"Did the Renegades give one to you, too?"

"Oh. No, I found this one."

"Where could you find one like that?" Sheena seemed genuinely interested, but Lloyd didn't really want to talk about it at that particular moment.

"It's a family secret."

"Fair enough," Sheena smirked.

She disappeared when she was asked to help make sure there were enough boats to ferry survivors across the lake should an evacuation be necessary, and she and Lloyd didn't speak again until late that night, over some midnight tea.

"I didn't know things were so bad here," Sheena said.

"What do you mean?" Lloyd asked, swirling more sugar than he needed in his tea.

"I mean the Desians. It's like Sylvarant is always at war."

Lloyd shrugged. "Some towns have peace treaties with them. They supply some slaves, the Desians supply security to the town." Lloyd had had some friends and acquaintances taken away to the ranch when he lived in Palmacosta, and he was familiar with the pain of losing people, and the hopelessness of a town being sucked dry. But he didn't know which was worse: being at the mercy of the Desians, or being complicit in their cruelty. Either way, there was no winning, because people here had no power. Not like they had in Tethe'alla, with their technology and military prowess.

"You know," Sheena continued, "Tethe'alla used to have something like the Desians. But with the success of the World Regeneration, they disappeared. I guess this is why the Chosen gives people so much hope."

Lloyd briefly considered asking her if she was considering abandoning her mission to assassinate the Chosen, but he thought the better of it. It would be equivalent to asking her if she was willing to condemn her whole world to deterioration and collapse. Lloyd knew she wouldn't, but he also had a nagging suspicion that after seeing what she'd seen here, she didn't exactly want to condemn Sylvarant, either. On either side of this unbalanced system there were people suffering, no matter what. Her mission would not change that.

She seemed to sense what he was thinking, and excused herself before he could bring the topic up in conversation. She slinked back into the shadows, telling Lloyd to have a good sleep, and disappeared.

Lloyd thought long and hard about the assassin, and the Chosen, her smile, her grit, and her profound aura of innocence. He wondered if she knew there was another world, a world opposite hers, that she would destroy if she saved her own. Maybe she was struggling in the same way as Sheena, but was better at hiding it. Either way, she and Sheena, and Lloyd—and everyone, come to think of it—were so deeply embroiled in this world of injustice and savagery that there may not be anything they could do about it.

It was the kind of thought that could keep Lloyd up all night seething, but this night, after all his hard work on Luin, he passed out as soon as he hit the pillow.

* * *

It was less than a week before the Desians attacked again. This time, they brought twice as many soldiers, better weaponry, and three massive caged vehicles, presumably for carrying the townspeople back to the ranch. Lloyd, standing on a rooftop with Sheena and surveying the landscape with his trusty binoculars, immediately knew evacuations were in order.

"Do you have another one of those… monster-things?" he asked Sheena.

"Yes."

"We're gonna need it. This doesn't look good."

Corinne had been silent about the issue of Sheena using all of her summoned monsters for this particular quest instead of for their intended purpose, but Lloyd could tell the fox was inwardly fidgeting about it. Lloyd knew both of them were concerned for their world, and they were throwing out their best weaponry to save the place they were assigned to destroy.

He supposed now wasn't the time to distract himself thinking about such circular dilemmas. He and Sheena made their way down to the street, where those who could not fight were either holing themselves up in the Church of Martel or stumbling onto the rowboats that would take them across the lake to safety.

Lloyd and Sheena met in the town square with the other citizens taking up arms. Half these people looked too young to defend themselves or their town, a quarter too old, and the rest untrained and weak. They were a community of fishermen and farmers, and their weapons of choice seemed to be pitchforks, fishing spears, decorative swords that had rusted too long on the wall, and in one familiar schoolgirl's case, a shovel. Lloyd was able to spy her among her armed comrades, wide-eyed but wearing a determined scowl. He wished he could tell her to get on the boat with the other kids, to save herself, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to convince her. Besides, who was he to tell her she couldn't fight for her loved ones, even if it was hopeless? It was something his father would've done to him—forced him on one of the boats, denied him the opportunity to defend those he held close. He was determined not to turn out like his father: mistrustful, cold and uncompromising.

Again, Lloyd found himself thinking too hard when he should be focusing on what was right in front of him, in this case, a horde of Desians, bloodthirsty and fully armed, marching down Luin's main street. He drew his sword and his exsphere glowed warmly, as if in anticipation. The power radiating from it filled him with assurance and strength, and when he strode toward the incoming Desians, he felt as ready as ever. As he raised his sword, a piercing white light engulfed the square, and another long-fingered monster sprang from Sheena's cards. It flew toward the Desians, raking its claws against the stone street almost joyously. Lloyd smiled and followed the monster into the fray.

The citizens of Luin were untrained, disorganized, and altogether poor soldiers, but they were brave, braver than Lloyd had supposed. One by one, as expected, they were beaten down and dragged off, or else killed and abandoned to bleed on the street. But they never seemed to give up. When one citizen watched his or her compatriot fall, the Desian responsible for it would no doubt receive a spear to the face or a club to the back of the head.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lloyd spied the schoolgirl with the shovel, now disarmed and being dragged off by her hair. She kicked and screamed, refusing to give up, and managed to at least give the Desians kidnapping her a hard time. They dragged her down a street away from the main square, and when Lloyd ended his current opponent, he ran after them. His exsphere pulsed, thirsty for action, and he was more than willing to oblige.

He sprinted toward the three Desians and the struggling schoolgirl, piercing the nearest one through the stomach before turning on the other two. They dropped the girl and raised their weapons, stepping toward him. Evidently thinking that getting rescued twice by the same person too embarrassing to let slide, the girl refused to run this time. She stole the dead Desian's sword and jumped up beside Lloyd.

Her determination encouraged him. She might not be good, or skilled, or even very strong, but if she kept up with this kind of resolve, she would be of some use. Together, they took on the last two Desians, Lloyd bearing down on one, the schoolgirl, through sheer rage, holding her own against the other. Perhaps discouraged by the sudden display of tenacity, the Desians stumbled back, parries weakening, until Lloyd managed to finish his off. Beside him, the girl struggled to disarm her opponent, so Lloyd stepped in and did it for her. He let her have the privilege of landing the final blow.

He watched the schoolgirl stick the Desian through the neck with a shaky cry. She pulled the sword back, panting, eyes wide at what she had done. Lloyd gave her a smile and turned his attention to opponents in the distance, reminding himself and the girl that their job was not done.

Right when he started toward the main square, hope rising, he felt something blunt and powerful strike his back. A burning ache spread through him and his legs went limp. He heard the schoolgirl scream as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, dropping his sword with a clang. Something hit him again, harder this time, right between his shoulder blades. His lungs pushed out the last of his air and his head swirled.

Between the anxious screams of the girl, he could hear a celebratory whoop from whoever hit him. His body went completely limp and he could only lie there as his attackers manhandled him. He felt hands wrap around his ankles and drag him across the cobblestone before, racked with pain, he passed out.

* * *

Sheena was the only one left. The other people of Luin had either died, been taken, or had escaped by boat. Even those locked up in the presumably safe Church of Martel were rounded up and sent off to the ranch. Sheena didn't know why they missed her, and she didn't care. All she knew was that she was alone, and that she was about to die.

She sat against Luin's iconic fountain, now a wet pile of rubble, and cupped her wounds. Corinne fidgeted beside her, frantic.

"Sheena, don't die," the little fox whined. "Stay here, I'll look for Lloyd."

_I should've just gone after the Chosen,_ she thought._ I should've never got mixed up in this. Why'd I listen to Lloyd about saving the town? That damn stupid kid. He knew better than me that this place was totally screwed._

Sheena knew that it wasn't the right time to think about that sort of thing. She had done what she had done. She had done what she knew was right. And she had paid the steep price for it. Perhaps this world wasn't meant to die. Perhaps…

She slipped in and out of consciousness, in a haze of pain. She thought she saw angels, or relatives, or whoever was waiting beyond those cloudy gates to welcome her home, slowly coming toward her, nothing but silhouettes in the mist…

And all of a sudden, the girl she had sworn to kill was hovering over her like a specter. Her big blue eyes were wide and wet, and she wore the most solicitous frown Sheena had ever seen. She knew she should scramble for her knife, somewhere in the dirt, and drive it through the Chosen's neck, but she couldn't do it. She was too weak, and the Chosen was too kind.

"Colette, get away from her."

"But she's hurt."

"It could be a trap."

"I don't care. She needs help."

"Yeah, Raine, just help her."

"Fine. But you're all too soft-hearted for your own good."

Sheena felt warmth course through her. The familiar numbness of healing magic enveloped her, and she grit her teeth as a faint light stitched her back together. Her nausea and pain faded, and she opened her eyes for what felt like the first time in her life. Three people hovered over her.

One Sheena knew to be the Chosen. The other two, she had no idea.

"Where's your friend?" the Chosen asked. "What happened here?"

Sheena tried to recall the events of the past few hours when Corinne crept from the shadows and curled on her lap, growling softly at her three new acquaintances.

"I don't know… wait," Sheena groaned. "Desians. They attacked the town. I tried to help, but… there were too many. They…" Corinne crawled onto her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

"I can't find Lloyd," the little fox growled. "He was probably taken with the rest of them." Sheena sighed and raised a shaking hand to the fox's little chin to scratch it.

"Where's Lloyd? Weren't you traveling with him?" one of the Chosen's companions asked, a boy who looked about twelve or thirteen.

"Lloyd, yes," she said slowly, trying to clear her mind. "They… they took him." She buried her face in her hands. "They took everyone."

"Well, we can't just leave him!" the boy said.

"Absolutely we can," the older woman replied.

"Raine, please! He's my friend, and I'm sure he'd help us with the Regeneration if we only asked!"

"Genis! Do you know what you're saying? You're suggesting that we invade a human ranch, jeopardizing the entire World Regeneration, just to save your schoolmate?"

"I agree with Genis," the Chosen said. "We can't just leave him. Especially if he's a friend."

"I swear, you're making a huge mistake."

Sheena's pain had subsided but her weakness had stayed. She knew she couldn't go through with her mission, not yet, not after they had healed her. Not after the Chosen had shown her such kindness. It was wholly dishonorable.

"At least tell us what we need to know," the woman said. "Tell us why you're trying to kill the Chosen. And why you don't want the world saved."

"Oh, boy," Sheena almost laughed. "This is gonna be a long story…"


	8. The Ranch

Lloyd awoke slowly.

It was not as if he could do otherwise, in the state he was in. He could barely move, and when he tried, pangs of agony pulsed through from every muscle. His eyes were caked and blurred, his mouth was dry and tasted like blood and rot.

When he finally pulled himself, despite his own body, into full consciousness, he wished that he had not woken at all. His legs hurt, his head hurt, his hands hurt… but his back most of all—every inch of him creaked and ached. He groaned and turned on his side, only to find his hands bound tightly behind him. Where was he… in Palmacosta? Did he get in trouble at school… was this someone's idea of a joke? Maybe he was in an inn? At home? Where was home, anyway… and where was his dad? And mother?

"He's awake," he heard someone say.

"Good. Let's see what that thing can do."

Bright light flooded his vision, and he shut his eyes against it. He turned his head from side to side, and tried to free his hands so he could cover his face, but there was no escaping the searing light. Rough hands grabbed his arms and tugged him to his feet. His legs shook, his eyes burned, he could hardly stand, but he kept his footing as he was dragged and jostled down what he assumed was a hall.

He couldn't see anything but grey shadows against the bright light. Above his own gasping breath he could hear the clinking of boots echo sharply down the hall. The harsh, inorganic smell in this place was overpowering—metal, steam, some sour, acidic scent that made his nostrils twitch. The air seemed to be clean, but discomfortingly so.

He didn't have much time to take in his surroundings before his captors dragged him through a doorway and shoved him forward. He clenched his fists and grit his teeth as he stumbled into the room, legs aching, hands numb. He began to suspect they were going to kill him, and braced himself for a knife in the back or an axe to the head.

But suddenly he was alone, and his hands were free. He dared to open his eyes wider and had to shield them from the overwhelming light. Through the cracks in his lids he could see he was in an expansive metal chamber lit with buzzing white bulbs. After a few seconds he took his arm away from his eyes and looked around in earnest. He seemed to be alone in the vast room, and there was no sound except for the high-pitched humming of the lights.

Far up on one of the walls, he could see a window, but he couldn't quite see beyond its opaque black sheen. He squinted, and thought he could barely make out a humanoid shadow on the other side, but the glass was tinted too darkly for him to be sure. A shiver crept through him when he realized he was probably being observed.

On the far end of the room, part of the wall opened and a massive man emerged, equipped with two swords, fully armored. Lloyd thought for one irrational second that he might be dead, and that now he was to fight for a place in paradise. Or, on second thought, he might still be alive and this was the method of his execution. Either way, the thought of death hovered over him, and his exsphere responded accordingly, jolting him fully awake and sending energy through him.

He looked at his opponent, helmeted like a Desian, and a bewildering realization came over him: he was at the human ranch. Yes… he remembered what happened in Luin, the raid, the schoolgirl, Sheena and her heroic monster, the smoke, the anger…

So, this really was his execution. Well, he wouldn't give the bastards the pleasure—he would fight. To his surprise his executioner seemed to have the same idea. He threw one of the swords his way, metal glinting in the sterile light. It clanged to his feet, and he picked it up, readjusting the grip in his hand. He didn't know why they decided to let him defend himself, but if they wanted him to fight, he was more than glad to oblige them; he supposed he and the Desians would not so easily agree on anything else in the near future.

He gripped the sword and raised it above his head. The other man sprang at him and struck with such force Lloyd stumbled back into the wall. The tremor of the impact shot through his sword and down his arm, rattling his shoulder and ribs. His exsphere responded by sending a shock of power through him and he swung, forcing his executioner to retreat.

The fight consisted of a hardly varied routine, to Lloyd's surprise. It was remarkably similar to his father's training: parry and swing, back up and advance, guard and strike. Unfortunately, right when Lloyd got used to the rhythm of the whole thing, he started to tire. He was still sore from the battle at Luin, still weak from his ordeal. His attacker, obviously experienced, could sense his hesitation and launched a full-out offensive, driving him back into the wall, hammering at him. Lloyd, arms shaking, took the blows one by one, until he felt his exsphere start to burn. Power he couldn't begin to comprehend flowed through him, and he gripped the sword so tight he thought it might break in his hands. He screamed, and with a two-handed stroke he cut through his attacker's gauntlet, into his forearm and out the other side. The Desian's arm, hand still clutching his sword, fell to the floor, followed by a spray of blood. Lloyd took his opportunity and thrust the tip of his sword through the man's throat.

The body fell to the floor, and Lloyd, panting, collapsed against the wall. He wondered if he had just fought for his freedom, or had at least delayed the date of his execution. He looked up at the tinted windows at the far corner of the room, but they were as lifeless as before. "What now?" he screamed at them. "Is that what you wanted? For me to kill him?"

No reply, no words, just the buzzing lights. Lloyd's breathing slowed, and his exsphere quieted down, losing its pale glow. He stepped over the still-bleeding body and started to make for the opposite wall. He knew the door was hidden somewhere along that seamless metal, and if he could open it, maybe if he ran fast enough down the halls the Desians wouldn't be able to catch him… He didn't get within a dozen paces of the door before it opened and in strode another assailant, this time armed with a spear. Lloyd grit his teeth and swore.

The second fight ended much like the first, with a dead Desian crumpled on the floor and Lloyd panting against the wall, exhausted. He glanced up to the windows again, absolutely sure he was being watched. He didn't have time to yell anything profound or profane at whoever was behind the windows before the door opened again, and in strode two Desians, each armed with a whip and machete.

Lloyd had more trouble with this fight—anyone would have—but eventually his exsphere gave him enough strength to finish it. But he had sustained more than one wound, and when he collapsed against the wall this time, he left a streak of blood. He barely had enough time to pull himself to his feet when the door opened yet again and another Desian entered.

This one was different—bareheaded, unarmored, smiling. His eerie, greedy eyes sat wide-set below slicked blond hair, and the curl of his lip spelled out a hint of cruelty. Lloyd's stomach instinctively turned at the sight of him.

"Lovely, just lovely," he said, almost genially. "To think someone like you could do that. Truly, a superior product. Unfortunately, it's wasted on you."

Lloyd's legs shook, but he raised his sword and pointed it at the stranger. He stepped over the two newest corpses and lunged at him, only to have his sword swept aside by the man's staff. Lloyd felt a blunt impact on his cheek as the Desian smacked him across the face almost playfully.

"You're going to have to try harder if you want to keep that exsphere," he said.

So Lloyd tried, and Lloyd failed. Every time he tried to land a blow, that staff was there, driving him away and delivering an irritating smack, mostly to the face and neck. He did not know how many minutes passed during this frustrating routine—Lloyd's face was so swollen he could hardly see, but he still fought, never managing to make it through this man's defense. Each blow the Desian deflected only stoked the sparks of exasperation in him, and before long he found himself, despite his father's stern voice chastising him in his head, resorting to clumsier, angrier swings. After a remarkably pathetic display that would embarrass, in Lloyd's opinion, even the lowliest of swordsmen, the Desian drove the butt of his staff into the ground and raised his free hand.

The man had lowered his guard. Lloyd, already angry with himself and his attacker, didn't want to waste the opportunity. He launched himself from the slippery metal floor, blade raised, tip poised for the kill. But as he swung his sword above his head, time seemed to slow. Lloyd's hair stood on end and a strange tingling sensation crept through him. It was like he was standing on the edge of something big, something powerful, but never quite—

Then suddenly, the big thing came, fast, hard, in the form of blue lightning. It tore through him, ripping his veins apart like a thousand searing knives. He barely had enough time to scream before he dropped his sword and followed it to the floor, crumpled and feeble like discarded paper. Goddess, he had never been in so much pain in his life. He curled and writhed, spitting curses, muscles twitching. His eyes teared up, and he swore he could smell something burning. He could barely hear the Desian chuckle pleasantly over his own struggled wheezing.

"It was quite amusing while it lasted," he said, turning Lloyd over with his foot. "Too bad. I would've liked to see more. But we all can't have what we want." He knelt down, pinning Lloyd's arm with his knee, and reached over for his hand. Lloyd, still half-blind with pain, could feel fingers wiggle between his exsphere and his skin. No, dammit. He wasn't going to take it, _he wasn't—_

His hand burned, and a searing power shot down his entire arm. With a metaphysical jolt of energy, power flooded his muscles and veins. The painful but weirdly exhilarating sensation that he was being split open screamed through him—it was an undiscovered, unprecedented agony for him, but when it tore through him it left in its wake a sensation of _blue_, of searing coolness, of electric vigor. In a burst of this absurd pain, cerulean light sprang from his exsphere, knocking the Desian back into the air. Lloyd managed to sit up, shaking, and spied the man struggling to his feet far on the other side of the room. Lloyd did not know where that power had come from or what had triggered it, and he didn't have the remaining energy to even begin to wonder.

"Ha! Excellent!" The Desian, despite everything, seemed elated. "Beautiful, absolutely wonderful! It has a mind of its own!" He strode toward Lloyd, unfazed. "Perhaps it's trying to… no… that would be too poetic."

Lloyd rolled onto his knees, trembling, and tried to stand. The Desian gave him a heavy kick to the jaw and he fell back down, vision darkening. He could hear the man's calm but unnerving voice somewhere above him.

"This must be _her_ fault. Yes, she left it with you, didn't she? If it is protecting you, we may need to take a few extra precautions when we remove it. Perhaps it will be necessary to cut off your hand? Maybe your entire arm?" Lloyd groaned. "What was that?" the Desian asked, leaning in. "Did you say something?"

Lloyd mustered up all the strength he had left in his body. "Eat…" He had fully intended to finish with _shit_ but his lungs no longer had the strength. He just wiggled his lips uselessly, eyes rolling back in his head, before he lost consciousness.

* * *

The voices danced around him, but he still couldn't see anything. He could barely feel, barely think. Sensations and noises passed through him like sand through a sieve. He tried to move his legs, and couldn't. He tried to move his arms, and couldn't. But there was pain, especially in his left hand. He twitched his fingers and immediately regretted it.

"Be careful now, if you please. I'd rather he be intact. If his blood is anything like his mother's, he'll produce a superlative product."

His mother… perhaps these voices would be able to tell him about her. Maybe he should ask. Maybe they knew where his father was… Maybe he could… try harder at school. And listen to his parents. Maybe today his mother could pick him up from the academy, and they could go to the harbor… to watch the ships… If he could fix his hand—gods, if only he could stop the pain in his hand, everything would be fine…

"Mother…" was all he was able to groan.

"Oh dear, he seems to be waking up. It's better if his body isn't aware enough to tell his exsphere what's going on here, or we'll have some complications."

Something pinched his neck sharply. A warm fluid flooded his blood, lulling him back into the grey, cloudy numbness of sleep. The pain in his hand gradually declined, and he thought that for sure this afternoon he'd be able to see his mother after school. After school… Genis could come too. After…

* * *

Lloyd woke freezing and sore. Everything around him was quiet, dimly lit by electric lamps nestled in the walls. He seemed to be on a filthy cot of some sort, dressed in itchy rags that looked like they had been cut from burlap. He sat up slowly, and coming to terms with the fact that he was still alive (the aches in his every bone was enough to tell him as much), he threw off his ratty sheet to examine himself. He had all of his limbs, even all of his fingers, but on the back of his hand where he had attached his key crest and exsphere, there was some sort of bandage. He picked at the edges, wincing at the pain, and managed to pull it away. He let out a sigh and fell back to the cot, suddenly numb.

On the back of his bloodstained hand was no exsphere but a sutured slit, crusted with dried fluid. He examined it more closely and between the stitches he could see a shiny red scab forming. Lloyd grit his teeth and replaced the bandage.

So here he was. He was one of the unlucky ones, the humans who were fated to work to death at the ranch. He was one of the mourned, the missed, and the mercifully forgotten. Just like so many others.

He wondered what they had done with his clothes, his things… his hand instinctively shot to his neck, where he searched for the locket containing the portrait of his family. They had taken that, too. His hand fell away from his neck, and he lay back down on the lumpy cot.

Maybe this was his punishment for agreeing to assassinate the Chosen. Martel knows it was probably just as much as he deserved. He had earned this, for even trying to choose to save one world over the other. Or maybe, it was all meaningless, that it was just his bad luck, and that Martel's vengeful hand did not guide his fate. Maybe he just had a bad day.

He lost himself in useless thoughts of injustice and nihilism for a few minutes, but eventually his wandering mind settled on the unnerving dream he had the night before... or the hallucination he had, he wasn't sure. But he was sure that he had seen his mother, that he had heard voices speak of her. He remembered the chilling words of the Desian that had stolen his exsphere; he had said something about his mother's blood... gah. He couldn't remember. His head hurt like hell and his memory was hazy. He thought he should just try to go back to sleep, to rest his aching brain.

Then an alarm screamed through the air, so harsh and so loud Lloyd almost pissed himself. He covered his ears and got up, but before he could walk to the door of his cell to see what was going on, it swung open and three Desians entered, fully armed and grinning.

"Wake up, kid. It's your first day on the job."

Lloyd just stared at them.

"Better hop to it, then. Lord Kvar is going to keep track of your progress personally, and you wouldn't want to give him anything but your best."

They prodded Lloyd out of the cell and down the hall, where he stumbled into walls, tripped over himself, blind with panic and deaf from the constant screech of the alarm. Soon he was outside, pushed into a group of other bewildered, battered and hopeless prisoners, similarly dressed and equally panicked. Lloyd looked around to see if Sheena had been captured as well, but couldn't find her. Of course, that didn't guarantee she was safe, but it gave him a faint glimmer of hope.

He didn't have much time to think about the welfare of his friend because he was suddenly swept up in a current of shaking, anxious prisoners. He found himself herded like the rest of them toward the edge of the prison yard, where a platform stood beneath towering fences of razor wire. On the platform loafed a Desian, looking bored and surrounded by guards. He made a quick joke to one of his comrades, chuckled to himself, then readopting his bored face, he lifted up a piece of paper and began to read.

"Welcome to the Asgard Human Ranch," he yelled. One woman near Lloyd immediately fell to the ground, sobbing, as if she had just realized where she was. The Desian on the platform kept on with his speech, raising his voice above hers. "You will be keeping a tight schedule. Any deviation from this schedule will be met with punishment. Any insolence or disobedience will be met with punishment. Failure to reach the desired weekly work quota will be met with punishment. Stealing, hoarding, or selling rations will be met with punishment. Anyone who attempts an escape will be executed on the spot." Someone next to Lloyd fainted. He and a couple others bent down to help, and were shouted at. "Any other transgressions will be punished appropriately, at the discretion of the overseeing officer. You will be receiving two meals a day, and every night you will return to your cell when the bell sounds. For matters of hygiene, privacy, and privy schedules, speak with others of your respective blocks. Now, get to work."

The prisoners scattered, each herded to a different place according to his or her number. A few panicked, tried to fight back, and were beat down or threatened into complacency. Lloyd tried to hide his horror as he followed others of his block to their required places. He scanned the edge of the yard, not sure what he was looking for. Maybe Sheena, maybe an escape, maybe… and then he saw him. The tall, blond Desian that had taken his exsphere. He clenched his fists and looked him over, his proud stature, his air of authority, and he guessed it might be the Lord Kvar the guards had mentioned. He certainly did look lordly, in a twisted, smug sort of way. As if the man knew he was being watched, he lowered his gaze and met Lloyd's. Lloyd froze, unable to take his eyes from Kvar's. As the Desian slowly grinned, an unsettling chill rattled up Lloyd's spine. He felt nauseated all of a sudden, his heart skipped a beat. But before he could figure out what Kvar's strange grin was doing to him, he was jostled away by his fellow prisoners, all trying to get to their assigned places for fear of a beating.

But Kvar's smile had stirred something deep, something dark within him, and he was suddenly terrified. Not so much of Kvar himself, but the sinking, burning hatred he felt—he didn't know where it had come from or where it would lead him. But as he saw the gaunt, horrified faces of the prisoners around him, as he watched the guards cut down a woman begging for her life, when he felt the hope drain from all the people around him, he decided he would follow that hatred wherever it took him. It would lead him out, it would lead him back to his exsphere, it would lead him to freedom. Then, as quickly as it came, the hatred disappeared, and a macabre resolution took its place. Lloyd swallowed his fury and decided that for the sake of revenge, he was going to stay alive.


	9. Kvar

"Did you hear about Pedro?"

"No way. Did he really get out?"

"Shh! Everyone, be quiet!"

"No, seriously."

"He did!"

"What?"

"They're going to kill everyone on his block if none of 'em fesses up to helping him."

"Well, who helped him?"

"I dunno, just some girl."

Lloyd heard a lot of things in the mess hall, some of them true, most of them false, but regardless of its veracity, this news made his stomach drop. Of course, he was sure everyone had their own fantasies of escape, even he did (of course he did), but he had never heard of someone actually doing it. Despite his best efforts not to get too optimistic, he felt a little bit of hope rise in him. The prisoners around him, too, seemed to be caught up in a shared moment of vicarious triumph, ecstatic at Pedro's alleged success. They shushed one another and spoke in quiet, excited tones, slapping anyone whose voice rose too loudly over the din of the mess hall.

Lloyd wanted to join them; he wanted to ask questions, he wanted to share in the victory. But he didn't like the sound of the mass execution that seemed to be imminent on the ranch's public schedule. He wanted to ask the other prisoners about Pedro, he wanted to know if there was a way he could get out, but he couldn't. If he talked with them, the guards might punish both him and the other prisoners. They were watching him closely, far more closely than they watched the others.

He didn't know why. He seemed to be doing about the same work as everyone else. Sure, they kept him working bigger projects and longer hours than most of the others, but he was an able-bodied young man with strong arms, so he saw no reason they wouldn't. They sometimes liked to force him to skip meals, and got too much pleasure in finding sorry excuses to beat him, but they did that with others, too. If you were unlucky enough to look at one of the guards the wrong way, or if they plain just didn't like you, they wouldn't hesitate to take a little time out of their day to ruin yours. They didn't seem to have anything better to do. Apart from the beatings, the command-screaming and the execution of prisoners, being a guard at a ranch honestly seemed like a boring job. They didn't handle the exspheres, they didn't seem to handle any logistics—they appeared to shoot the shit and smoke cigarettes more than they did any actual work. A few guards were assigned to him personally, and although they goofed off as much as the others, they never let him stray from his schedule.

He spent his time at the ranch as most did—work, more work, little sleep, and some time to eat a slap of grey goo they called food—the only difference was that his days included periodic and invasive examinations that he was sure others didn't get. Sometimes they were tests of strength, sometimes endurance. They would often make him push a large metal block across the yard pointlessly for hours, while guards and internees alike watched. One time they made him fistfight a fellow prisoner. When Lloyd initially refused to fight the man, they grabbed a nearby woman and threatened to kill her until he acquiesced—to any of the other prisoners, it seemed a random (yet not uncommon) act of unnecessary cruelty, but he had seen the man with the clipboard at the edge of the yard, watching him closely. He had been wearing a white coat, like many of the other Desians he had the displeasure of spending his day with (most of the tests they did were administered in the medical wing of the ranch). They would draw his blood, cut open his hand and examine the crystalline exsphere that was growing slowly inside. Usually, Kvar was present at these procedures, watching and smirking but rarely speaking.

Within his first few days of living at the ranch, Lloyd had learned from another man in his block that this was how exspheres were made. "First, they shoot you up with something, I don't know what," he told Lloyd over a sickening meal of gruel. "Then, after the thing has had enough time to incubate, they put you to work."

"Why do they make you work?" Lloyd asked. He had always assumed that there was some kind of mining operation done in these places to produce exspheres. But now that he knew they grew inside people, it seemed as if the manufacturing process would take care of itself.

"Because exspheres respond to stress and pain the most, right?" The man shoveled some of the brown goo into his mouth. "In order to get one, you have to work the host. I mean, really _work_. You have to really make 'em suffer." Lloyd didn't know how he could be talking so nonchalantly about this, but listened anyway. "So, after who knows how long, months or years, sometimes a lifetime, they take you into the medical wing to get your exsphere taken out." He paused.

"And then what?" Lloyd asked.

"And then you die."

A chill went through Lloyd and he couldn't help but examine his bandaged hand. His arm shook slightly, and he glanced back at the man across from him before standing up.

"Wait, kid, sit back down, they'll see you."

Lloyd knew they were already watching him. They already watched his every move. He swung his leg over the rusty metal bench and walked to the edge of the mess hall. A hush fell over the room, and the two Desians on meal duty called out to him, telling him to sit back down. Instead, Lloyd walked over to the far corner, where a little black camera stood, watching silently, always watching. Lloyd leaned into the camera, and found himself hoping Kvar lingered somewhere on the other side.

The dark, unnerving hatred inside him bubbled to the surface once more at the thought of the smirking Desian. It spread like a sickness through his veins, numbing his mind.

"Get your ass back to your table!" Lloyd barely heard the guards; he just focused his vision, now tunneling rapidly, into the uncanny black eye of the machine. "Or we'll come over there and make you!"

Lloyd only stared into the camera, and as each millisecond passed he was more and more sure that Kvar was on the other side, watching. "Listen here, you bastard," he hissed into the lens. "You're not gonna get away with this. I'm gonna make sure you—" He didn't have time to finish before the two guards on duty grabbed his elbows and dragged him away from the camera. Lloyd swung his arms, kicked and screamed, but before he could land a good punch, the guards beat him into the ground. Just to make sure he didn't get up and give them more trouble, one of them stomped on his stomach until what little gruel he had eaten came up again. Satisfied with their disciplinary measures, the Desians left him lying there.

"If any of you help him up you're gonna get the same treatment," one of them said. So no one moved while the guards sauntered back across the hall, chuckling and joking. Lloyd lay on the floor for a few minutes and listened to the other prisoners slurp and chew in wordless shock. When he could breathe properly again, he struggled to his feet and stumbled back to his table. He collapsed onto the bench and spit blood into his bowl of grey goop. The man across from him glanced worriedly at him but didn't dare speak. The entire hall was silent for the remainder of the meal; only the clinks of rusty metal forks and quiet chewing sounded through the mess hall. After that, Lloyd did not see the man that sat across from him again. He assumed he died or was moved to another sector.

That was early in the game, though, before Lloyd learned the rules. It wasn't so much the beatings, the insults, and other punishments that taught him to control himself, it was Kvar's reaction to his outbursts. Every time Lloyd disobeyed, fought back, argued or otherwise misbehaved, the worst part of his punishment would be the joy he saw Kvar got out of it. The first few times he was beaten in the yard, the Desian lord hovered over him like a vulture over a corpse, grinning the whole time. Shortly after his outburst at the camera, Kvar made it painfully clear he was pleased by having a hard loaf of bread delivered to his cell. Lloyd decided that even if he didn't quite understand Kvar's particular brand of sadism, he wasn't going to give the man what he wanted. So he forced himself to quiet down, to rage inwardly, to nurse that black, twisting hatred inside himself. Every day he told himself that Kvar would die by his hands. But in the meantime, he took the blows, did the work, and endured the invasive examinations, all so that he could deprive that bastard of what he craved most.

As if somehow alert to Lloyd's plan to lay low, Kvar seemed to have decided to follow him everywhere he went. Whatever yard he was assigned to that day, he would briefly look up from his work to inevitably find Kvar, standing high above him, surveying the labor. One time he was beaten down for staring at him for too long. He could feel Kvar smiling at that, smiling every time Lloyd's life got a little worse. And the seething anger inside Lloyd bubbled up, making his muscles shake, compelling him to plan his revenge. _I will kill him,_ he told himself. _I will kill him. I will survive, and I will kill him._

* * *

A few days after Pedro escaped (no one really knew if he had gotten away with it or if the Desians had hunted him down and just hadn't dragged his body back yet), Lloyd was brought into the medical wing for his routine examination. He had woken up that morning as he had woken up every morning since his arrival at the ranch—to the sound of the screeching alarm—and nothing about that day felt different. He sat in the usual chair, attended to by the usual hooded physician, who carefully strapped his wrists to the chair arms and his feet to the ground. They rubbed some brown liquid on the inside of his right elbow, slid a needle into his skin, and filled the syringe with his blood. He was used to this by now—he didn't even flinch when he watched the needle go in and come out. The syringe was handed back into a small crowd of clinical assistants and disappeared into the shadows.

Lloyd heard the familiar sound of the door to the medical wing swishing open, and suddenly Kvar was beside him, too close, smiling as usual. "How are we feeling today?" Lloyd didn't reply. He knew no matter his answer, it was likely it would be the wrong one. No better way to get himself smacked and make the bastard's day. "Not so well, I take it," Kvar continued. "Oh well, let's just see what you've been up to these past couple weeks." He nodded to the physician, who cleaned Lloyd's hand and ran a scalpel across it.

Lloyd grit his teeth as a bead of blood appeared from the cut and rolled down the side of his hand. His arm shook a little, and the doctor stilled his wrist as his skin was parted and the crystal beneath revealed. Lloyd couldn't help but glance over the shoulder of the physician, and he spied a small smattering of crystalline cells growing beneath his skin. He shivered. They had cut him several times, but still, each time they did it, he never expected to see that strange rock.

Kvar, however, was less affected by the sight of the tiny growth. "I'm disappointed, Lloyd. Truly disappointed. You could've done much better." Kvar turned on him and reached up his hand, gripping Lloyd's cheeks and squishing his mouth. A cut on his lip received from a previous punishment split open and began to bleed. "Your bitch mother did a much better job than you."

Lloyd struggled at his bonds, trying to free his hands so he could strangle Kvar, put out his eyes, to hurt him in any way, any _possible _way—he just needed to wipe that little smile off his face. He groaned helplessly, torturing his arms trying to escape. Kvar still clutched his cheeks so he couldn't spit the myriad insults he had boiling up inside of him, but he hoped the fury in his face was enough. His raised heartbeat and excited muscles must've made his hand spurt blood, because suddenly his arm, and the arm of the doctor holding his wrist, was covered with it.

"My lord, please," he heard the physician say. "Getting him riled up will not make it grow any faster."

Kvar laughed, smacking Lloyd's cheek playfully. "I'm sure he'll provide us with something truly extraordinary. That is, if he manages to live up to his legacy."

Lloyd bit his tongue, repeating his cathartic mantra to himself: _I will kill him. In time, I will kill him. I will survive, he will die. I will kill him…_ He didn't notice the blood dripping from his mouth until the doctor wiped his face with a wet cloth.

"Don't get too excited, Lloyd," Kvar said, visibly amused. "Your day isn't done yet." The Desian stood up, patted him on the head and made his exit. The physician stitched up Lloyd's hand, deftly and quickly; he was as used to this routine as Lloyd was.

When he was released into the courtyard, fuming and clenching his uninjured hand, something caught his eye near the gate, under the arches of barbed wire. Usually around this time he'd be released with the other prisoners for their midday meal of gruel, but he saw that a crowd had gathered at one extremity of the yard, jittering and talking. Lloyd followed the crowd, pushed and jostled, and found himself facing a makeshift set of gallows. In a twist of his heart and a turn of his stomach, he realized someone was about to be hanged.

"For the crime of assisting subject 18235 in his escape, we hereby publicly exterminate subject 20191," a Desian from the platform read aloud, obviously bored. There was no explanation beyond that. He discarded the decree and grabbed the noose hastily, clumsily, as if he had much better things to do with his morning than sentence a prisoner to die. With that, he wrapped the noose around the neck of the condemned. With a jolt of agony piercing his stomach, Lloyd recognized the girl from Luin, a girl he had saved twice, a girl who had shown her defiance and bravery by wielding nothing more than a shovel against her town's oppressors. She still looked as recalcitrant as ever, with a stiff frown on her lips and a fire in her eyes, even in the face of death.

Lloyd, in the front of the crowd, had a clear view of her. Before he could stop himself, he strode toward the gallows, seething. He couldn't let her die. He couldn't let them kill her, not after what he had done for her, for Luin. Not after they had both fought so hard. He knew she hadn't been the first one from her hometown to die, and certainly wouldn't be the last, but her execution was salt in a wound he could not handle right now. He jumped toward the gallows, not sure how exactly he would save her, but the other prisoners seemed to sense his intent. They wrapped their arms around his, pulling him back into the crowd, telling him to leave it or end up like her. He struggled against them, trying to make his way up toward the gallows, but there were too many of them holding him back. The girl at the noose looked down at him, recognized him, and gave him one last smile before the trapdoor opened up below her and she fell.

Mercifully, her neck broke in an instant. Lloyd went numb and fell to the ground. He stared at her twitching, dangling feet and his blood went cold.

This was his fault. If only he had fought harder, been quicker, smarter, if only he hadn't gotten mixed up in this whole Chosen business, he wouldn't be here. He would be with his father, far away, untouched by the horrors of the ranch. If only...

A few Desian guards had noticed Lloyd's troublemaking and were pushing their way through the crowd of prisoners toward him. They hoisted him off the ground only to knock him back down, slamming him with truncheons and whips. As he lay on the ground, taking the blows, the crowd dispersed. The schoolgirl's body was cut down from the noose and two guards prepared to carry it to the crematorium.

From the corner of his swollen eye, Lloyd saw Kvar lean toward one of his guards and whisper something. The guard nodded and passed the message to the others, including the ones standing over him, massaging their spent striking arms and occasionally dropping insults down at him. They stopped immediately when Kvar approached, making way for the Desian cardinal, who stood over him as entertained as ever.

"I'm glad to see your little checkups have no ill-effects on your pluck," he said. Lloyd struggled to his knees, only to get kicked to the ground again. "Unfortunately, displays of such blatant impudence are not tolerated here. I'm afraid you're going to have to learn some respect."

_Shit, he's gonna have a field day with me now, _Lloyd thought. Part of him cursed himself for getting in trouble and making Kvar's day a little better, but a bigger part of him knew that he couldn't have acted differently. Lloyd was hauled to his feet, and dragged between two guards to the edge of the yard. Kvar followed him, and several more guards came after. They shoved him to the front gate and held him there while the instruction to open it was relayed up to the men on the wall. While the gate slowly opened, Lloyd looked around. To his right, just beyond the fence, was the green expanse of untouched Asgardian forest. To his left he spied the charred and decaying corpse of a prisoner who had tried to scale the electric fence, and had been left there as an example to others.

Lloyd wondered what that prisoner would've thought if he had seen that they were opening the gate for him and leading him out of the ranch. Probably bitterness, maybe hope. Maybe Lloyd could hope. Maybe he would manage to kick his way to freedom and run off into the forest. The thought died quickly in him when he turned his head and saw that at least ten guards were escorting him, all armed with rifles.

For the first time in months, Lloyd saw the outside world. It looked much the same as it always had—the rivers ran their usual course, the animals lived their usual lives, the trees whispered as they always had. Nature seemed to not care who was suffering, who was slaving away, and who was dying at the hands of the Desians. Everything was as it had been, at least from the perspective of the natural, non-human world.

Lloyd was dragged through the forest surrounding the ranch and into a clearing, where he was released. He looked around. Piles of dirt surrounded him, and the smell was overpowering. He realized he was in what must be the ranch's burial ground. _They're going to kill me_, Lloyd thought, gritting his teeth. _They're going to kill me and leave me here._ One of the guards threw Lloyd a shovel and commanded him to dig. He knew they were going to make him dig is own grave, then slit his throat, or shoot him, or stab him, and throw him inside. Or worse, they were going to bury him alive…

But instead they dumped the body of the schoolgirl in front of him. A strange mixture of horror and relief rushed through him. He wasn't going to die today; she had done it for him.

Even in death, she still looked defiant. Maybe she was pleased with herself for having assisted in Pedro's escape. But any information she could've given Lloyd about how to get out of the ranch went with her into oblivion. Whatever regret he felt at her failure to help him was overshadowed by his gratitude (as well as his guilt) in having lived where she died.

"Better hurry up, boy," one of the guards said. "She's getting a little stiff." His comrades laughed.

Lloyd shook with ire, but still managed to start digging. _Don't do anything_, he told himself. _Don't do anything at all that will make Kvar happy._ He concentrated not on the cruelty, not on the girl or her death, but the dirt, the impartial dirt. It didn't care who died and who lived, who was righteous and who was evil. It took them all in and turned them into more dirt, into nothing. It sapped their mana and gave it to the forest, and it was unstoppable. He numbed, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing power of the soil. He turned it over with his shovel, hauling out piles of brown dirt until a human-sized trench began to appear.

He wondered if he managed to dig deep enough, he would find another body. Maybe that body would be his mother's. He wrung momentary comfort from the idea that he could lie down beside her and refuse to get up. Maybe they would shoot him and just leave him there, piling dirt on him, and he could finally meet her again after all these years...

No. He couldn't die here, not before he killed Kvar. He gripped the shovel harder and dug in earnest.

The Desian lord, reclining on a stump, watched him and smiled, as always. Every few shovelfuls, Lloyd would look up at him, clench his teeth, and repeat his mantra. _I will kill him… I will…_

Lloyd dug well into the afternoon, sweating under the scorching sun. He had shoveled for so long that thoughts of the girl, thoughts of his mother, thoughts of his own suffering had left him. Only the mantra of revenge stayed. He shook with exhaustion, but his mind was empty except for his violent resolve. When the Desians were satisfied with the size of his hole, they told him to drop her body inside. By this time, the corpse had gone stiff, and Lloyd had some trouble fitting her in the plot. He managed to fold her arms over her chest and shove her into the grave, and when he climbed out of the trench, he smelled acridly of death. He piled dirt onto the body, trying to cover her face first so he didn't have to look at it. When he was done, he patted the newly turned mound with the underside of the shovel and turned to face his captors.

Kvar seemed pleased with his work, but then again Kvar seemed pleased with almost everything. Lloyd tried his best to stare him down, repeating his mantra, hoping that somehow Kvar would hear him. The Desian overseer recognized the hatred in Lloyd's stare and drank it in with a smile, giving the impression that it only satiated and refreshed him. He stood up, motioned to the guards, and Lloyd was roughly escorted away from the clearing, through the surrounding trees, and back to the ranch. He thought that he might as well make his escape into the forest now, before they locked him back in that damnable prison, but he knew how that would turn out. Lloyd would have a bullet in each knee and Kvar would have a fit of euphoria.

When Lloyd was dragged back in through the gates, he saw that the gallows had not yet been disassembled. Apparently the Desians thought that they might as well torture two birds with one stone, so they strung him up by his feet on the same rope that had killed the schoolgirl. He had not known what they would do to him then, but he supposed he should've guessed.

After a laughter-filled afternoon of beating his back with rods and whips, a few of the guards drank beer in the setting sun. Some of the unluckier internees who happened to pass by were forced to throw rocks at him, but fortunately for him, the prisoners were so overworked and feeble the stones barely hurt. When the guards had evidently tired themselves out having fun with him, they left him dangling, dripping blood onto the trapdoor that now lay closed under him. He struggled to breathe, every inch of him pained and weak, his head on fire. The stripes in his back ached, and his every muscle throbbed with fatigue.

Right when he thought his day couldn't get any worse, Kvar decided to enjoy the sunset with him. Desian guards procured a chair for him and he sat beside Lloyd, agonizingly just out of reach, watching the western sky and reading a book of poetry. From the corner of Lloyd's swollen, watery eye, he spied something familiar, nestled between the pages of Kvar's thick book; a string of brown yarn that Lloyd had fashioned as a chain for the locket. Lloyd dared himself to let his eyes follow the length of the yarn—and there it was, the tiny portrait of his family, hanging on the end of what Kvar now used as a bookmark.

Lloyd groaned, reaching out to the Desian, his fingers twitching, aching for blood. Kvar didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't show it. Instead he smiled and turned the page.

"I've always been a fan of the pastoral tradition," Kvar told him as he dangled, the gallows crossbeam creaking slightly. "Perhaps that's why I chose to immerse myself in ranch life. Spectacular views like this are just not commonplace where I'm from. And there is something so satisfying about a hard day's work done right, isn't there?"

Lloyd tried desperately to not let out the sob that was bursting in him. Here Kvar was, only a few feet away, unarmed, and Lloyd could not touch him. He couldn't even try, he was so weak.

"I'm sorry we have to do this to you, really I am," the Desian overlord continued. "But I'm afraid you're just not doing as well as we expected. Evidently you're not suffering nearly enough. But not to worry, we can fix that. I am in this business for a reason, after all. And if you can't keep up, well, we'll just hang you and be done with it."

Lloyd couldn't swallow. He could barely breathe.

Kvar closed the book and looked up at him, smiling. "My dear boy, I'm going to share a secret with you. The secret to running a successful operation is merely an exercise in cost management. You must assess possible losses and weigh them against gains—the whole dreary affair is only economic. I'm sure you've learned about economics in school, if you ever went to school. They're very particular when applied to human ranches, mostly because all of you are so disappointingly fragile. Humans are an immensely perishable product. Why, just last year there was a pneumonia outbreak and I lost nearly a quarter of my crop. Cost me a fortune. Not to mention Lord Yggdrasill was most displeased." Kvar shook his head. "It's not an easy job, but I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Lloyd swayed slightly in the mild afternoon breeze. He hoped against hope the wind would pick up enough so he could swing over to Kvar and wrap his hands around that disgusting pale neck. His fingers twitched at the prospect of squeezing the life out of the bastard, but the wind never gave into his fervent prayer. Instead, it tickled his hair gently, almost mockingly, while Kvar read him a poem about two shepherds falling in love. Lloyd's eyes closed—he was thirsty as hell, and he couldn't feel his feet anymore. Unfortunately he could still hear Kvar, who never seemed to be done talking.

"I saw your father the other day," the Desian said, after finishing a particularly long poem about a daisy crushed under a lamb's foot.

Lloyd's eyes shot open. He tried to muster enough strength to speak, but only a groan came out.

"Yes, he looked about as healthy as you do now. About in the same situation, actually, but right-side up. It's almost poetic, isn't it?"

Lloyd could barely speak. His mouth felt like cotton. "What… did you… do…"

"Oh, I haven't done a thing to him. He did this all to himself. And to you. If he hadn't fooled with our Angelus project, then you wouldn't be in this situation now. But I suppose that's all in the past. We have the project back, and now, if we're lucky, you're even going to make us another one. Come to think of it, we should probably breed you so our supply of your mother's blood doesn't run completely dry."

Lloyd muttered something under his breathed.

"I can't hear you, boy. Speak up."

"I will… kill you."

Kvar laughed outright. "Goodness, you're a barrel of laughs, aren't you? It will almost be a sad day when we have to cull you." Kvar went back to reading, occasionally removing his impromptu bookmark and subconsciously toying with it, as if to make sure Lloyd knew it was there. He asked Lloyd's opinion on the form of this poem and the rhyme scheme of that one, and asked him if he thought the whole symbolism of a sacrificial lamb was terribly cliche. Lloyd, of course, didn't answer. He only groaned, clenching and unclenching his fists weakly, until after what seemed like hours, Kvar was finished reading. "It looks as if it may rain tonight," he said, closing his book and standing. "Perhaps it will be refreshing for you. Perhaps not." He flashed Lloyd a smug grin and stepped off the platform, heading back into the warm glow of the Desians' quarters.

Lloyd turned slowly in the wind, steadily losing consciousness, as clouds gathered in the distance.

* * *

It rained all night. Lloyd slipped in and out of sleep, drenched and freezing, and briefly considered dying out here, just to spite Kvar and rob him of his exsphere. But remarkably, every time he woke, either out of pain or fear or cold, he was still alive. When he could, he tried to catch as much rain in his mouth as possible. It was nearly impossible for him to swallow in his current state, but even having the cool water slosh around in his mouth was surprisingly comforting.

Just before dawn it stopped raining. The early morning wind, though gentle, chilled him to the bone. His head felt like it was going to pop, and his feet felt like they had already shriveled and fallen off. He watched the forest beyond the barbed wire, thinking of what he would do when he got down. The next time he saw Kvar, he would kill him. He didn't care if he was pumped full of bullets, if the guards managed to cut him open before he even got there—he would make it to Kvar, and he would rip him apart. But not before he forced the bastard to tell him what he'd done to his mother, his father, to him.

_Why us?_ Lloyd found himself thinking. _What was our crime?_ Maybe Lloyd had been born into an obscenely unlucky family. Maybe his ancestors had done something vile and now he was paying the price. Maybe the world was just unspeakably cruel and he, like everyone else, was at its mercy.

He watched the trees as the sun slowly rose. Shadows danced, leaves rustled, the sunlight peered through branches. The forest was safe from the savagery of morality, the threat of evil. All nature did was survive. He wondered if he might be lucky enough to be reincarnated as a tree when the time came.

Suddenly, he thought he saw a flash of something white. Hair, maybe, perhaps a coat. And then he saw Genis at the barbed wire, staring through at him. He blinked. The boy was still there, so he blinked again. Lloyd thought dehydration must've gotten the better of his brain. But Genis stayed, clutching the wire. He seemed like he was shouting something to Lloyd.

Then the alarm rang across the entire ranch, calling the prisoners to work. Genis jumped and disappeared at the sound of the shriek. Lloyd almost called after him, but couldn't find his voice. He dangled alone, staring after his friend, until a few yawning guards climbed up the steps to him.

"So we just cut him down?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think he'll manage to break his neck from there?"

"Nah."

"Righty." One of them sliced through the ropes holding his feet and he fell to the platform, pain shooting through his back and into every limb. He tried to get up, but his muscles failed him. The Desians dragged him upright and off the gallows. They threw him on the yellow grass just as the other internees were filing into the yard, and his work for that day began.


End file.
